
m 



ROBERT 
BURNS 

EDWARD 

WINSLOW 

GILLIAM 

The CoTTihiU Company 








Copyright X"____/_9i5. 



ROBERT BURNS 



ROBERT BURNS 



A Drama in Four Acts 



EDWARD WINSLOW GILLIAM 

Author of " The Rector of Hazlehurst** 
" The Foundling," etc. 




THE CORNHILL COMPANY 

BOSTON 



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Copyright, 1914, by 

ED. W. GILLIAM, M. D. 

Baltimore. Md. 



All rights reserved 

Copi/right, by Ed. W. Gilliam, M. D., as dramatic composition. 

"Robert Burns.'' All rights reserved, including that 

of translation into foreign lariguages 



©aO 51435 



A FOREWORD, 

Robert Burns — Born January 25, 175^; died July 21, 1796. 
A great, but ill-fated genius. Author of his own beautiful 
epitaph : 

Is there a whim-inspired fool, 

Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule, 

Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool.^ 

Let him draw near. 
And owre this grassy heap sing dool, 

And drap a tear. 

Is there a bard of rustic song, 

Who, noteless, steals the crovfds among, 

That weekly this area throng? 

O pass not by ! 
But, with a frater feeling strong, 

Here heave a sigh. 

Is there a man, w^hose judgment clear 
Can others teach the course to steer. 
Yet runs himself life's mad career, 

Wild as the wave? 
Here pause, and, through the starting tear. 

Survey this grave. 

The poor inhabitant below 

Was quick to learn, and wise to know. 

And keenly felt the friendly glow, 

And softer flame; 
But thoughtless follies laid him low, 

And stained his name. 



vi FOREWORD 

Reader, attend: Whether thy soul 
Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole, 
Or, darkling, grubs this earthly hole 

In low pursuit. 
Know: Prudent, cautious, self-control 

Is wisdom's root! 

More than one play, we learn, presenting Robert Burns, 
have been produced in Scotland, but with indifferent success. 
The reasons given are the unhappy incidents in the life of the 
Bard, and his unseemly and lamentable end. 

But these distressing features belong to the pen of the 
biographer, who must needs present the Bard in his totality, 
not to that of the dramatist, who rather selects, in his ca- 
reer, an illustrative point of distinction. The author, there- 
fore, has chosen, for the final and crowning scene, the plow- 
man Poet's brilliant advent among the wits and bloods of 
Edinburgh, declared by Sir Walter Scott the most remarkable 
event in the annals of literature — the scene in the Edin- 
burgh salon of the Duchess of Gordon — a scene representa- 
tive of the Bard's world-wide triumph. 

The Drama is a life of Burns, set dramatically. Nothing 
artificial. A real life. The leading events of his career are 
drawn, historically correct, and substantially in historic 
sequence. An occasional unimportant bit of dramatic 
license will, we hope, be allowed. 

The author himself somewhat of a Scotchman (by re- 
mote extraction), the Drama, in the sum of its changes, has 
been the enthusiastic work of half a dozen years. 

Apart from the direct quotations the Drama is replete, it is 
hoped, with a Burns' atmosphere. 

The reader will note many indirect quotations, where the 
marks are not and could not be given, seeing the context 
required the author to introduce a word or sentence of his 



FOREWORD vii 

own. Noticeable in takings from Tam O'Shanter, and other 
pieces. 

The temper of the Pastors, in Act II, is not overdrawn. 
They meet to concert measures against Burns, whose ful- 
minations had lampooned them unmercifully. At that day 
the hold of Calvinism in West Scotland was disputed by 
Arminianism and Socinianism. The Kirk was divided into 
warring factions, known respectively as Old Lights, and New 
Lights — high Calvinists, on the one hand, and, on the other, 
*' Moderates,'* supposed to squint toward Arminianism. 
Between these factions the quarrel was bitter, and the coun- 
try-side half mad over it. 

The public appearance of Burns on the scene, as the cham- 
pion of the New Lights, intensified the quarrel tremendously. 
The few written-out pieces of the " Rustic Bard," in the 
plowman's cramped hand (as shown in fac-similes), distrib- 
uted to his friends — among the pieces shafts at the Old 
Lights — had aroused great interest. When it became 
known his poems were passing through the Kilmarnoch 
press, interest mounted. The booklet appeared. To Ayr- 
shire it was a revelation. 

In the Kirk circles, excitement rose to fever-heat. Burns 
was the central figure. He had taken risks. The scathing 
satire in "The Kirk's Alarm " — unequalled for severity — 
let fly both at the Old Light Pastors personally, and at their 
doctrine in controversy, these Pastors being at the front 
among the distinguished men of their communities — at a 
critical hour, too, when these Pastors were profoundly aroused 
over a bitter quarrel with the New Light party, a quarrel in- 
volving the congregations, and, in fact, all West Scotland — 
for a young country-side plowman to let fly arrows so sharp 
at such parties, was, antecedently, exceedingly hazardous. 
It was a situation our day scarcely can realize. 

Burns saw the risk and boldly dared it. Fortune favors 



viii FOREWORD 

the brave. The Bard's fulminations, now out in plain print, 
and snapped up and jollified over by the public, the New 
Lights received with roars — the Old Lights, with wrath 
and alarm. 

The affiliated Old Light Pastors of the Mauchline district 
(the Bard's residence,) meet, in Act II, in anti-Burns Ses- 
sion. Divisions among themselves spring up. Some, while 
denouncing the fulminations, applaud their genius, Scotch 
pride insinuating itself into kirk loyalty. Hence suspicions. 
Hence the breeze between Reverends Peebles and Russell, as 
given in the Drama. 

The plot fallen upon is to entrap and imprison Burns, upon 
warrant connected with his relations with his sweetheart, 
Jean Armour, in the hope that his well-known extreme sensi- 
tiveness would work a jail suicide; Burns counter-planning 
in an effort to foil his enemies by embarking for the West 
Indies. 

We all know Burns' failings, and the lamentable issue of 
his life. With this the Drama has naught to do. As among 
the remarkable men of the world — as the most remarkable, 
perhaps, of his day — as a great national Poet, with patriotic 
societies in every city organized around him — as one of the 
great poets — as the Poet of the plain people and of democ- 
racy — as an extraordinary genius — and as, in his writings, 
a living delight among all English speaking peoples — he is 
here presented in his notable triumph in the salon of the Duch- 
ess of Gordon, eclipsing, within his range of subjects, the wits 
and bloods of the Capital greeting him there — a star of 
magnitude, whose shining grows with the generations. 



CAST OF CHARACTERS 

Robert Burns — alias Nannie Brice, alias Andrew Cargill. 

Gilbert Burns. 

Jean Armour. 

Johnnie Peacock, Bailiff. 

David Brice. 

Old Light Pastors — in meeting. 

Duchess of Gordon and company in her Edinburgh 
Salon. 



ACT I 



ROBERT BURNS 



ACT I 



Scene: Evening. A barn-yard. David Brice discovered, 
with lantern. Enter Robert Burns. He is seen a singmarly 
attractive young countryman. Clothes of plowman — soiled 
and disordered by circumstances of pursuit. Broad blue bon- 
net covers head. Visage haggard — showing all the passions 
of soul in commotion. He rushes in, wildly excited. 



Brice {lifting lantern, to scrutinize): Jee, jee! Robie Burns? 

Robin: Ay, Davie Brice — fugitive frae your brither Willie's 
hay -loft — wi' bailiff at my heels to serve warrant for 
ten pounds, or Robin's proud and independent stomach 
to rave in jail! Lord of grace and power, help the help- 
less! 

Brice: Does bailiff follow on here? 

Robin: Not yet at Willie's has been the coof — but be re- 
ported hot on the way thither. 

Ten pounds, Davie, when my pouch be a baubee, and I 
must skulk frae covert to covert, till Greenock clears her 
West Indies brigantine, and frae a berth afore the mast 
say fareweel to a' sae dear ! God of mercy befriend the 
friendless ! 

Brice : But no fareweel for aye, Robin — na, na. Ye'll be 
back a year and a day, wi' fortune mended, clouds blawn 
aff, and arms and hearts wide to receive ye. 

Robin {intense) : Fortune mended ! Alas ! Davie, misfortune 
stares my face, pointing to ruin and disgrace. Fareweel 



4 ROBERT BURNS 

to Scotland, to dear auld Scotland, fareweel, fareweel! 
{Pause — grief demonstrations.) 

And to you, too, my bonnie Jean, must I say fareweel? 
What bursting anguish tears my heart! — Jean, Jean, Jean, 
what lover ever sae adored? I thought mysel' the lucki- 
est lad! How can she frae the fondest lover part? 
(Pause — grief demonstrations.) 

Robin: If that ten pounds, by parish law, be for the child 
unborn, can it be called impure? Didna I gie her full 
written acknowledgment — held, in our degree, to cover 
a' the ground, legal and moral — to be, by formal mar- 
riage, ratified on my return? Wretched, wretched wo- 
man, she has destroyed it, I hear. — Deil tak me, but yet 
I do love the jade! 
(Intensely aroused — wild action.) 

Brice: Come, Robin, come. You're worn, and wild, and 
stricken. Come, tak the hay, as chance offers. They've 
hunted you out of rest night and day. You'll soon be far 
a-sea, headin' for better times, and cheatin' jail. Ay, ay, 
Robin, the hour looks dark, but ye'U yet toss your tail 
and cock your horns fu' canty. If need be, my whistle 
(blows whistle) will report the bailiff. 

(By outside ladder Robin mounts to loft. Brice busies him- 
self within barn. Comes out. Stands in thought. Sud- 
denly looks up at loft, intently listening, Reassured as to 
sound, speaks): 

Brice: Naithing, naithing. Just a turn a-bed. Asleep, poor 
hounded soul, as he touches the hay. 
(Enter Jean Armour, a winsome lassie.) 

Brice: Wow! Jean Armour! What's up, to be at such a 
place, and at such an hour? 

Jean (heart-stricken — intense) : I must see Robin. Hidin' 
here, the cot-house tells me. Up there (pointing to loft)? 

Brice : Sure as we're down here. 



ROBERT BURNS 5 

Jean: Ay, David Brice, I must see Robin — must see him, 
David Brice — I must see him afore he leaves. My 
heart's breakin'. 

Brice: And Robin's, as weel. The cut of the marriage lines 
in his acknowledgment, has cut Robin's veins. 
(Jean bursts into tears.) 
(Pause.) 

Jean (passionately) : Oh ! Davie, Davie, are you na my kin 
and my friend? You know a' my trouble, and I know 
verra' weel you bear nae flinty heart that canna feel. 
Sair did I weep and mickle did I say. As you wot, my 
father, enraged, did sae bear down on me, and, at his 
order, the lawyer-man did cut the lines. 
(Weeps. Pause.) 

Jean : Oh ! I hae wronged Robin, and I hae wronged mysel*. 
All this I must tell Robin afore he leaves Scotland. 
(Pause.) 

And him sae dear to me I must warn against this bailiff- 
man; for this verra' hour sure and certain news reaches 
me — and sae, too, hae I come — that some coof has 
given Robin awa', and bailiff-man be now on his track to 
Price's barn — yours, or Willie's. (Pause.) 
And besides, I wad press Robin for anither acknowledg- 
ment, and he wad know that father and mither and a' 
should gae mad afore a cut again. 

All this wad I tell Robin, to hear him say he forgives me, 
and that he loves me. How can he break a heart that 
keeps him in its core? 
(Weeps. Pause.) 

Brice: I can speak for Robin, Jean, that he loves you still. 

Jean (joyfully): Ha! Has he told you sae? 

Brice: Have na I heard his heart distractions? 

Jean (imploringly): Oh! David Brice, for the Lord's sake, 
let me hear his distractions. I beseech, I implore, by 



6 ROBERT BURNS 

these tears, by my ain distractions. Oh! shall I see his 
face again, and shall I hear him speak? Oh! shall I hear 
him say, afore he goes awa', that he loves me? 
{Pause — Jean reflecting.) 

Jean: He canna sleep here, Davie, for that bailiff -man. Call 
him down, Davie, call him down. He must come down. 
He canna sleep here for the bailiff -man; and Oh! Davie, 
told to you, at least let me, aback that door (pointing to 
barn-door), hear his dear distractions, and that he forgives 
me and loves me still. 
(Pause — Brice reflecting.) 

Brice : They hae deeply wronged you, Jean, wha should hae 
been first to know better, and the turn you ask, you shall 
have. This (showing whistle) gives the signal. Stand, 
then, aback the door. The first whistle calls Robin. The 
second, mind, swings the door wide. 
(Jean retires behind door. Brice gives keen whistle. Robin, 
by outside ladder, hurries from loft.) 

Robin (bitterly) : Losh, man ! in God's name what now, what 
now? Anither flight this night? 

Brice : Hurry news up at the cot-house, that the bailiff has 
a tip you're hidin' here, and he may happen ony mo- 
ment. 

Robin (bitter demonstrations) : By the Eternal ! Nae end to 
this houndin'? 

Brice: We'll test the turn, Robin, and you may sleep here 
yet. The cot-house stands guard, and you'll hae time to 
gie bailiff the slip. 

Robin: The Lord stand wi' the hapless! Amen, amen! — 
And whence this hurry news? 

Bkice: The love of Jean Armour. 

Robin (astonished) : Ha ! — What ! — Jean Armour ! — Lin- 
gers there ae kindly thought for Robin? (Pauses) Perdi- 
tion seize me, but I do love her! 



ROBERT BURNS 7 

Brice: And Jean loves Robin. 

Robin (furiously): And here, thou son of assertion, be the 
argument: She came to my arms joyful and broad awake. 
What has she done.f^ Has she na cut the marriage lines, 
sinking herseF to Jezabel, and hurrying me skulkin' frae 
covert to covert, to dodge the jail, till I can ship, by slip, 
for Jamaica .^^ 

Brice: Robin, Robin, pity the repenting, unhappy girl, and 
charge a father's forcing. 

Robin: Lord, man! shouldna a fair name's keeping have 
braved him.^ 

Brice : She be ready now, I trow, to brave him. 

Robin: How wot ye? 

Brice: Wad ye try her wi' anither acknowledgment.? 

Robin (hesitating — then resolutely) : She has overstepped the 
mark. My poor, dear, misguided Jean! Davie, Davie, 
she has made me completely miserable. Never man loved 
a woman more than I did her — and, to confess a truth 
atween us, after a' I do love her to distraction. In a' my 
soul ne'er has there been place to let a rival in. Whan 
she wad look kindly upon anither, or whisper, did na a 
draught of damnation cut through me? I can hae nae 
nearer idea of the place of eternal torment, than what I 
have felt in my ain breast on her account. My pains of 
hell on earth are past, and shallna the bliss above be 
mine? Aft hae I tried to forget her. I hae run into a' 
kinds of dissipation and riots, mason meetings, drinking 
matches, and other mischief, to drive her out of my heart 
— but a' in vain. And now for a grand cure. The ship to 
tak me out to Jamaica, is to clear this week, at Greenock — 
and then f areweel, fareweel, f areweel to dear auld Scotland ! 
(Grief demonstrations.) 

Brice : It's breakin' mony hearts, Robin, to hear you speak 
sae, and Jean's, believe me, be among them. 



8 ROBERT BURNS 

Robin {furiously): That acknowledgment, as a most pre- 
cious document, at a' hazards she should hae preserved 
intact. And now they hae gat a warrant to throw me into 
jail, till I find security, for a great sum, against the unborn. 
They thought to keep it a close secret; but I gat it by a 
channel they little wot of, and, pursued by them, I am lying 
in ambush frae one's friend's hame to anither, and, like 
a true son of the Gospel, hae na whare to lay my head. 
Let them spare the poor, ill-advised girl; but may a' the 
furies that rend the injured lover's bosom, vex, till the 
latest hour, those wha controlled and misguided her. I 
am in a rage, Davie, reflecting on my miserable situation 
— exiled, abandoned, forlorn! 

Brice: Eleventh hour, Robin, hasna struck. 

Robin: Davie, Davie, for me nae turn, nae balm in Gilead. 
I am miserable beyond compare, and Jean Armour's at 
the bottom. I am absolutely crazed, the luckless victim 
of mad tornadoes that blow me into chaos. Almighty 
love still reigns and revels in my bosom, that witchin' charm 
which can the strongest quell, the sternest move. This 
lassie I adored, and without her still feel in my heart a 
miserable void. Shouldna I know how charming she is, 
though a' Scotland were blind? Am I to be told by ony 
man, or ony nation upon earth, what beauty and sweet- 
ness are? Is she na the fairest whare thousands are fair? 
Wha sings my sangs wi' such taste and feeling? Whare 
such a voice — the song of the morning? Disna the 
sun tak delight to shine for her sake? Wad to God my 
tongue were a beam of the sun, to speak her — hevy 
Davie, wha is entwined wi' the thread of my life! 
{Intense emotional demonstration.) 
{Pause.) 

Robin: Since this affair, Davie, even in the hour of social 
mirth my gaiety has been the madness of an intoxicated 



ROBERT BURNS 9 

criminal under the hand of the executioner. Never more, 
never y NEVER shall I hae such an armful of joy. 
Brice: My magic whistle, Robin, will see to that. 

{Brice blows a keen whistle. Barn-door swings open. The 
winsome Jean confronts Robin. With cries and tears they 
rush into each other's arms — Manifestations of intense 
feeling throughout.) 

Jean: Oh! Robin, Robin, Robin, about that acknowledg- 
ment, sair did I weep, and — 
Robin (interrupting) : Davie has been eloquent, Jean. The 
. heavens open, my dear girl, and the glorious light scatters 

a' the darkness of the past. 
Jean (in tears of joy) : O Robin, Robin ! 
Robin: Awa', awa', wi' hint of tears in a' this depth and 

tumult of joy. 
Jean: O Robin, they be tears of joy. 
Robin: Then my lips must dry the trail upon the cheek and 

be partaker (pressing Jean to his breast and kissing her) . 
Jean: And you must gie me, Robin, anither acknowledgment. 
Robin: On the spot, my ain duplicate (disengaging himself 

and handing Jean the document). 
Jean: Oh! Robin, Robin, they curb me sair and hold me 

down, but I'll teach them a\rattling sang. Hearest thou, 

Robin, here's my hand (extending hand which Robin grasps) 

— Fm thine by a' this paper reads. 
Robin: Heaven hears that vow, and, since you're na sae 

swift to seal it, I'll seal it mysel'. (Embrace and shower of 

kisses.) 
Jean: Oh Robin! but must you gang awa'.? 
Robin: The fates, it seems, sae order, and what ties, what 

ties broken! 
Jean: Na broken, Robin — but stretched and tried. You'll 

be back, Robin, whan it's a' blawn over, and gat richer. 



10 ROBERT BURNS 

Robin: Gat richer! 

Jean: Yes, Robin, dinna ye mean that? 

Robin: In part — ay, ay. 

Jean: And isna the Indies a fortune makin' country? 

Robin: Sae reported. 

Jean: And fortunes made there? 

Robin: Sae reported. 

Jean: And winna Robin make his? 

Robin: Enough may be, to the fair to hie, a bunch of blue 
ribbon to buy, to tie up my love's bonny brown hair. 

Jean: And riches truly that will be, Robin, for a token to no 
be forgotten. 

Robin: What more in his pouch Robin canna say; for the 
gift no be his to gather or to garner gear. Onyhow, my 
dear, dinna lese ye on gold. It rises frae the hard, hard 
rock, and sae often finds a cruel bed, falling on the human 
heart, to break it. 

Jean: Certes, Robin, witnesses a-plenty. 

Robin: Gold! What care I? Jean is my ain, and. Fortune, 
what more canst thou gie me? Kings and nations avaunt, 
awa', awa' ! Trifles, I refuse ye, wi' Jeanie in my arms ! 
{Embraces Jean.) 

Jean: Heaven be praised for Robin, a lover and a lad com- 
plete. Na, na, Robin. What's a' the joys that gold can 
gie? I carena gear a single flea. The lad I love is the lad 
for me. 

Robin : A country lad is his degree, but prouder than belted 
knight is he. Wi' Jean his ain he'll no envy the folks wha 
dwell aboon the sky. 
{Embraces Jean.) 

Jean : Just ae inch of time I hae, Robin, afore the bailiff-man, 
to say fareweel. You'll no forget me, Robin, in the far 
Indies? The Powers above know sae weel the vows hae 
passed atween us twa. 



ROBERT BURNS 11 

Robin: Forget thee! Na, na! The dear idea refuses to be 
forgotten. Doesna the keen, tender ee declare the 
faithful lover? I ask for dearest life alone, that I may live 
to love thee. Forget thee ! Let the sun, then, first forget 
his course. Let the monarch, then, first forget the crown, 
that on his head an hour has been. Till clay-cold death 
shall blind my ee, thou shalt be my dearie. Heaven hears 
the vow. On these lips I seal it, and break it shall I never. 
{Embraces Jean.) 

Robin: But can Robin forget, that distance has its dangers? 
Will Jean forget Robin? 

Jean: Forget Robin! All the lee lang day I couldna sing, I 
couldna say, how much, how dear I love Robin. Forget 
Robin ! Hey Robin ! the tear of joy comes to my ee, that 
the dearest lad has said he loves me. Forget Robin! Oh 
Robin! the tear of fear comes to my ee, whan I think 
on him wha's to be sae far awa'. Forget Robin! O! I'll 
think of him that's far away, and the lee-lang day I'll 
weep and pray for Robin back. 

Robin : Those prospect tears cry out for advance returns. 
{Embraces Jean.) 

Jean: O Robin! I'll storm heaven. O Robin! I'll weep and 
pray, and night and day in a' my dear petitions place his 
weal that's far away. 

Robin : And for rich returns wha can doubt, whan this dear 
girl has grace enough to stock twa three preachers? 

Jean: O Robin! nightly dreams and thoughts by day will 
be wi' him that's far away. Tender spirits round my 
pillow will whisper the dear lad that's far away. 
{Robin embraces Jean.) 

Jean: But, Robin, is it that you really are to be sae far away? 
It may na be; but, whare e'er you be, what e'er betides, 
Robin's to be a credit to us a* — we'll a' be proud of 
Robin. 



n ROBERT BURNS 

Robin: Possibly my poetry may outlive my poverty and ob- 
scurity, and Robin na be forgotten a hindred years hence. 

Jean: And today, today, Robin is to be somebody. You 
know, Robin, my veins run Highland blood, whare Sec- 
ond Sight has a hame, and your grand day, Robin, is 
coming. Whan, I canna say. Whare, I canna say — but 
somewhare; for hae I na seen it? Yestreen on Robin 
I was dwelling, and suddenly, as by some hand na seen 
and which I couldna control, my eyelids were sae strange- 
ly raised, to see afar, and, staring out, I saw in such light 
and magnificence a grand company of nobles and ladies 
gay, and you, Robin, the star amang them a', and mysel', 
Robin, by your side in sang. Can a' this, Robin, be in far 
away Indies? 

Robin: Ha! A heavenly vision! O glorious prophecy! 
Aweel, some clouds hae silver linings, and a loving brush 
has painted mine. The glory, sure, will be twa times more 
wi' the prophetess partaking. You raise me to the skies, 
dear girl. Now, wha be this imp frae below, *gainst whom 
your guided step comes hither to gie me warning? 

Jean: Peacock is his name and stranger amang us — a wee 
scholar-man wha has seen better days, wi' short body, 
lang tongue, one sharp ee, keen sense, and head fu' of 
queer knowledge. Follows antiquarian trade — sae they 
call it. 

{Enter rustic in tumult of excitement, arms up and exclaim- 
ing) : 

Rustic: A wee man wi' one ee be just up at the cot-house, 
and wow! they hurry me down here a-runnin'. 

Brice: The baihff! And the Peacock canna forget the bam 
— old acquaintances. 

Robin {starting in haste to get away and embracing Jean): 
Fareweel, fareweel, my dearie. Whare e'er I be your dear 
idea shall mingle wi' every throb of my heart. 



ROBERT BURNS 13 

Jean: But oh! Robin, the baiHff, sae I hear, has a cruel 
hound, to track you. 

Robin {reflecting a moment — then, resolutely) : I'll meet the 
unco loon. Whare I shall shelter against them I canna 
say. But shall I no weather the storm? Ay, ay, / shall! 
I'll be ship a-hull, wi' sails furled, helm lashed on lee side, 
and protected. This wot ye a' whom it concerns: I, 
Rhymer Robin, alias Burns, upon that proposition kiss 
the book. Perish the drop of blood of mine that fears 
them. I'll laugh and sing and shake my leg {nervous 
gaiety). Here, Jean, our longitudes and latitudes are 
close akin, and necessity knows nae law save its ain. 
Don me wi' headgear, waist and skirt. 
{In a jiffy Jean's things are off, and on upon Robin.) 

Brice {surveying Robin and laughing): Na sae bad in wo- 
man's toggery. 

Robin: Let it inspire me wi' a woman's tongue. 

Brice: Be a lover jilted by the Bard. Weep — wring 
hands — raise eyes — speak daggers — offer for the hunt 
— ony thing, ony thing, to get him aff , 

Robin: Nannie Brice is up to snuff. {Listening) There! 
Footfalls! {To Brice) The lantern! You and Jean, aback 
the door, can hear Nannie acquit hersel'. 
{Exeunt Jean and Brice to barn.) 
{Enter Peacock with lantern.) 

Robin {Affrighted — out-cry) : Ha! Wha be ye? 

Peacock {lively — pert): Nae robber, nae robber. Be no 
affrighted. And wha be ye? How shall I name ye? Be 
it lass, or be it dame ye? 

Robin: Wha be ye — at such a place, and such an hour? 

Peacock: Bailiff-man, law-and-order man, protection man, 
nae robber man, and on a hunt. 

Robin: Good Lord! At the barn? For what? To find a 
goat for sin offering? 



14 ROBERT BURNS 

Peacock: Na, na, na — to find a man, nae goat; but this 
lucky dog finds a petticoat, wha wad prove, I opine, one 
offering sae fine at beauty's court, I dinna doubt. 

Robin : Let bailiff-man beware, and wi' a serious proposition 
grapple. She might prove anither Eve, to gie ye an apple. 

Peacock: It be, then, for my ainsel' to be affrighted. 

Robin: Betak', then, thine ainsel' awa'. 

Peacock: Na, na, na sae soon. The quarry's caught (point- 
ing to loft), and hunter may dally. — And as for anither 
apple-Eve, egad! he might na bite. 

Robin: Wiser in this old sun-set generation, than Father 
Adam at sun-rise creation. 

Peacock: Ay, ay! 

Robin: If law-man, whare thy badge of authority.^ 

Peacock: Here, here (pointing to badge and lifting lantern to 
it.) — And my name is Peacock, Johnnie Peacock, easy 
for the goddess of the barn to remember. 

Robin: Goddess of the barn-yard, sir, to speak to the point 
more completely, whare peacocks, wi' her cattle, roost, 
and sing sae sweetly. 

Peacock: Sing sae sweetly! Ha, ha, ha! — And how name 
ye? Be it lass, or be it dame ye? To tak' a lovely look 
will ye blame me? Certes, it canna shame ye. 
(To scrutinize. Peacock raises lantern near Robin s face. 
Robin, as if himself in the game for scrutiny, raises his 
lantern near Peacock'' s face, and obstructs purposely Pea- 
cock's look, fearing discovery. They continue manoeuvring 
lanterns at hide and seek — anon desist, when Robin speaks) : 

Robin: I be one Bo-Peep, and I see a sheep. 

Peacock: Ha, ha, ha! I too, be Bo-Peep, and I no see a 
sheep — na, na, na, but a sweet lassie, O; for there in the 
hair of my lady fair, for my ain answer good, I no see the 
dame coif, but the lassie's snood. 
(Pause.) 



ROBERT BURNS 15 

Robin: Why after a man? 

Peacock: To serve a parish warrant and catch him, if I can. 

Robin: How runs the warrant? 

Peacock: Cash, or jail. 

Robin: What man? 

Peacock: Burns. 

Robin (visibly startled) : Burns! — Burns! — What Burns? 
— This Rob the Rhymer? 

Peacock: The verra' man. Ye must wot of him, wha sae 
stirs a' the country-side. 

Robin (suppressed fury) : Nannie Brice na wot of this ran tin*, 
rovin', versifyin' Robin, and vile deceiver? Oh! bitter, 
bitter be the tear of her wha slighted love bewails. (Dem- 
onstration, head bowed, handkerchief busy.) 
(Pause.) 

Peacock: Might be here — eh? 

Robin : Och ! — Brice's roof, even barn-roof, screening that 
coof? 

Peacock: Ah! might na the rascal steal a bed? 

Robin: And dare the risk of a jilted woman's tongue, and a 
brither's fighting ee? 

Peacock: " Coof " and " tear,'* my lassie dear, canna throw 
me aff. A sure tip I hae to law the Rhymer in Brice's barn 
this night. 

Robin: What "Brice's barn," Davie's here, or his brither 
Willie's, a Sabbath day's journey awa'? 

Peacock : I be just frae Willie's, as ye name him, and Rob the 
Rhymer I'll wage a shiner is there (.pointing to barn-loft) ^ 
wi' you, anither Nicodemus, serving him at such an hour. 

Robin: Ye're a* aff the scent. A yearlin' bullock and a 
lambkin, crony cattle and ailin* for a dressing, tak' this 
hour. Just as hae the wicked, this coof amang them, 
too, has friends, wha wadna stick a deceivin' tip to sell. If 
ye doubt, there's the ladder, wi' hay-loft at your service. 
(Pause.) 



16 ROBERT BURNS 

Robin: What has skellum Robin been up to? 

Peacock: A father in prospect under the bar sinister. 

Robin : Somewhat of that I've heard. 

Peacock: And the parish guardians exact ten pounds for 

year's support of the expectation. 
Robin: Of that, too, somewhat have I heard. 
Peacock: This ready money must be on the nail, or, by my 

warrant served, the jail, ere to Jamaica he slips to sail. 
Robin: Somewhat of it a' I've heard, and if he has wronged 

the sweetest, dearest lassie in a' the round world, I'm wi' 

you, bailiff -man, in the hunt, whip and spur. Vile sinner, 

wicked one, hale him, wale him, jail him, thou bailiff-man 

(violently). Lord, pardon a' my sins, and this too (aside). 

(Pause.) 
Robin: Canna Rhymer Robin pay? 
Peacock: Cashless, cashless coof they say, and he winna slip 

by a golden key. 
Robin: Nae friends wi' whom his pieces count, to help? 
Peacock: Proud, proud, Johnnie Peacock hears — over 

proud to snool or ask. 
Robin: Can run him down? 
Peacock: Close on his tracks has been Johnnie; but Johnnie 

needs a helper, the coof, to hide, has Jacks-at-a-pinch sae 

mony. Whan I land, a full fat fee comes in, a special, 

over and above the legal, and my helper wad come in 

halves. 
Robin: Generous! Fair helper's bait! The penny's the 

jewel that beautifies a'. 
Peacock: Of his class a' I meet seem his friends. Wi' such 

a wrong as ye hae, and such a spirit, were ye a man, 

Johnnie might ask ye to gie a han'. 

(Pause.) 
Robin: Whence this special fee? 
Peacock: The Old Light Pastors. 



ROBERT BURNS 17 

Robin: And wha be the Old Light Pastors? 

Peacock (declamatory): Lord, Lassie, dinna ye know? Hae 
the crony cattle sae taken ye, that ye dinna know, that 
the hold of Calvinism in a' this west of Scotland be dis- 
puted by Arminianism — that the kirk, frae tap to toe, 
be split wide open into twa bitter fighting factions, Old 
Light high Calvilist here, New Light low Calvin half 
Arminian there, and a' the country-side be going wild 
over the holy tussle? 

Robin: And dinna Johnnie Peacock know, that lassies be 
less at hame in such heavenly jars? Sae, let Johnnie's 
pulpit preach on, to tell what it be a' about. 

Peacock: Fudge! dry bundles of opinions metaphysic, 
Johnnie Peacock taks it. Wi' zeal for orthodoxy fired, and 
in the depths of logic mired, these Pastors be. 

Robin : Bravo ! Dry — but frae what you say wad seem to 
get the blood. 

Peacock: Lord's cause ne'er gat such a twistle. Names like 
" hypocrite," *' traitor," " rascal," " villain," each ither 
gie, and nither be lying. Wi' five points, each, they 
charge upon each ither like mad. 

Robin : Five points ! Jee ! Ye canna mean these messengers 
for God clash wi' dirks, five to the man? 

Peacock: Ha, ha, ha! Five points! five dirks! Ha, ha, ha! 
Five points be ways of thinkin' spun by logic frae the 
work of grace divine upon the mind — as Johnnie taks it, 
becloudin' the real Gospel Light, argumentum makin' 
decrees for God, wha, in such might and majesty, be un- 
speakable, incomprehensible, sae far awa', and sae un- 
known. 

Robin: Bravo, bravo! And how goes the battle? 

Peacock: Betwixt the fightings saxpence ither way it be. 
The value runs 'twixt tweedledum and tweedledee. 

Robin: Bravissimo! If Johnnie Peacock has lost an ee, he 



18 ROBERT BURNS 

hasna lost his sense, and that of high degree. Lord be 
near thee. Your hand (shake hands) . — But what has 
this skellum Robin to do wi' it sl'? 

Peacock: A deal, a deal, my lassie fair. He has jumped 
plump into the fight, and be Hannibal headin* the New 
Light. 

Robin: This skellum, then, can be a fighter, if nae more. 

Peacock: Ay, ay, a captain — in his line a son of Anak — 
ithers as grass-hoppers. 

Robin: How mony points brings the skellum to the battle? 

Peacock: But one — yet sae keen, and stings sae sair. 

Robin: What, prithee.? 

Peacock: Ridicule, ridicule — such power in a chield wha 
knows how. Hae ye na seen his " Kirk's Alarm," like an- 
ither Samson smitin' the Old Light Pastors hip and thigh? 

Robin (as if recalling) : Seems I hae heard somewhat of that 
fashion. 

Peacock: Lord! hae ye been living above ground na to 
know a' about this stir? Why, a' the district has both 
heard and seen it, and, what's more, be splittin' sides 
a-laughing. Hae the dressings of the crony cattle gat a' 
your een and thinkings — or are ye sae devoted to that 
lambkin, that ye hae nae thought awa'? 

Robin: She's a bewitchin' creature. That much, wi' a' my 
heart, I know. What besides I dinna know mysel', 
Johnnie Peacock may tell. 

Peacock: 'Twas risky, risky, this *' Kirk's Alarm," fired at 
the Old Light Pastors, social leaders, heads of congrega- 
tions wide, and at the verra' hour in mad wrangle wi' the 
new Lights. 

Robin: Risky, nae doubt. 

Peacock : Ay, ay ! For a plain plowman to print such quality 
in irreverent droUish names — as '* Daddy Auld," 
" Rumble John," and ithers of that powerful Old Light 



ROBERT BURNS 19 

clique wha swing the Gospel Club — and at their persons 
and at their points let fly such biting wipes, was risky, I 
tak it. 

Robin: Why wasna the skellum smashed? 

Peacock : Under cover copies gat out, and presently wi' such 
roars of glee, that the skellum was fain to slip the mask. 
Old Lights, on the spot, gat wind of it and trouble; and 
now, wi' it a', the Kilmarnock edition be just out; and in 
it, too, this *' Holy Willie's Prayer," and Old Lights be 
in such roars of rage, and castin' about how to stap the 
skellum's quill, if na stap his breath. 

Robin: Ha! " Holy Willie!" What saint be this, liftin' his 
haloed head amang the sinners? 

Peacock: One William Fisher, Ruling Elder of this *' Daddy 
Auld's " MauchHne Kirk. 

Robin: Old Light? 

Peacock: Ay, ay. 

Robin: And New Light Hannibal a-celebratin' his saintship? 

Peacock: Ay, ay — but in a figure. See this rap at the five 
points in " Holy Willie's Prayer ": 

O Thou wha in the heavens dost dwell, 
Wha, as it pleases best Thysel', 
Sends one to heaven and ten to hell, 

A' for Thy glory. 
And no for ony good or ill 

They've done afore thee! 

Peacock: What think ye of that? 

Robin: Nae poisoned, stinking Arminian smell. 

Peacock: Ay, ay. 

Robin: Sae clear and sweet frae Calvin's well. 

Peacock: Ay, ay. — And this slap, too, at " Holy Willie " 

himsel'. Allow it. Lassie? 'Tis rough. 
Robin: One ear I'll lend, and may be but half of that. 



20 ROBERT BURNS 

Peacock: Then, wi' your leave: 

O Lord yestreen, thou kens wi* Meg — 

Thy pardon I sincerely beg, 

Oh! may it ne'er be a livin' plague 

To my dishonor, 
And I'll ne'er lift a lawless leg 

Again upon her. 

May be Thou lets this fleshly thorn 

Beset Thy servant e'en and morn. 

Lest he owre high and proud should turn, 

'Cause he's sae gifted; 
If sae, Thy hand must e'er be borne, 

Until Thou lift it. 

Peacock : Weel — what thinkest thou of thaty for a Ruling 
Elder of the Kirk? 

Robin (pausing) : What does Johnnie Peacock think of it? 

Peacock: What does Johnnie Peacock think of it? Why, 
Johnnie Peacock thinks it the most terrible skit that ever 
was writ. — Aweel — the slap be no amiss, as reports 
gae, that Holy Willie at times be sair troubled wi' fleshly 
lusts, and vile self gets in. 
(Pause.) 

Robin: And where gets in that special fat fee, to go halves 
wi' the helper? 

Peacock: Just here: "The Kirk's Alarm," and ** Holy 
Willie's Prayer " on tap, like unto some wonderment 
drapt frae the skies, has startled the Old Lights wi* 
amazement and a tribulation. What next? they cry. 
Sae they fee me weel to pack aff this terrible Robin the 
Rhymer. 

Robin: And how, pray? 



ROBERT BURNS 21 

Peacock: Help his flight, some cry, to tak the Nancy for 
West Indies. Na, na, be the louder cry. He'll yet be 
livin' to fire anither " Kirk's Alarm," or " Holy Willie." 

Robin: Yet livin'! Merciful Heavens! Wad stap Robin's 
breath .^^ 

Peacock: What nicer turn for these Old Light fighting cocks, 
than despatchin' a lusty devil .'^ Yet nae blood spillin'. 
Enough to serve the warrant. 
(Pause.) 

Peacock: Hae ye been wi' Robin? 

Robin: Hae ye forgat that Robin wad na dare a jilted wo- 
man's ee? 

Peacock: Ye know Robin, then? 

Robin: Ay! As my ain seF. 

Peacock: Ye know, then, a chield of misfortune. Nae cash 
to satisfy the parish guardians, the warrant means jail — 
and jail means death to such melancholy and excessive 
sensibility, they tell me. 

Robin: But ye haena served the warrant yet. What of the 
Nancy for the slip 'twixt cup and the lip? 

Peacock: We hae sure word the Nancy winna be cleared to 
sail this sen 'night. Meanwhile, the law will hae gat 
Robin, unless he staps his breath wi' his ain hand. 

Robin: His ain hand! Tut, tut! Wha says that? 

Peacock: He be sae intense melancholic, and despairin' by 
a' accounts. 

Robin: That doesna square wi' what I be told, that Robin, 
more than ithers, is a bright laddie. 

Peacock: What ye be told. To myseV what be the accounts, 
but that toil, toil, exceedin' toil — dreary strugglin' — bad 
luck — nae cash — despairin' poverty — hae settled upon 
his countenance deep melancholy? 

Robin: How is it, then, he plays his cards sae weel wi' the 
lassies? 



22 ROBERT BURNS 

Peacock: Ah! true, true, they speak of a change, that, wi* 
those of interest to him, he be transfigured, Hke unto One 
we wot of, that his face shines as by a beam of the sun, his 
een be a' aglow, and his tongue a marvel. 
(Pause.) 

Peacock: Sae he bloomed, nae doubt, whan he took this 
Lassie's ee. 
(Pause — Nannie with head bowed and handkerchief busy.) 

Robin (raising head): By these salt, salt tears, that drap 
down by my nose, Johnnie Peacock's kind heart will please 
drap the Lassie's woes. 
(Pause.) 

Peacock: Let me gie news : That orthodoxy yet may prance, 
tomorrow eve will see an Old Light meeting, to think upon 
extra steps against this rabid Robin — at Rev. William 
Auld's (this Daddy Auld's), the Old Light district Pastors 
attending — Miller, McKinley, Peebles, Mitchell, Rus- 
sell and ithers. 

Robin: Wad to God I could attend, too. Certes, I wadna 
be dumb. 

Peacock: Jee! 'twill be a thriller* They be ready to tear 
Robin limb frae limb, as the devil's own. 

Robin: Blythe be the bird that sings upon their graves. 

Peacock: And suspected turncoats, too, I hear, will be called 
to account, those Old Lights, wha, while cussin' Robin's 
blasts, hail his genius. 

Robin: Wad that I could be there! 

Peacock: Scotch pride, you see, slips into Old Light loyalty, 

Robin: Wad to God some way wad open to be amang 
them! 

Peacock: Pastor Peebles be one of the suspects. Betwixt 
him and furious Pastor Russell fisticuffs, I hear, scarcely 
hae been prevented, sae tremendous the excitement, and 
a clash be no unlikely at the meeting. Johnnie Peacock 



ROBERT BURNS 23 

must be there, to report upon the hunt, and Johnnie's in 

trouble. 
Robin: O dear! what unblest side, is it, of man's revolvin' 

mony-sided lot, turns up now for Johnnie? 
Peacock: Johnnie, wha needs cash, may be fired frae the 

Old Light job. Wad ye know, at bottom, why a helper 

Johnnie needs? 
Robin: A willin' ear be Johnnie's, if na a helpin'. 
Peacock: Weel, to the tale: Amang a' those of Robin's run 

wi' whom it may be thought he be kept in hidin', Johnnie 

finds only Robin's friends. Robin has nae faults, it 

seems, or, if ony, they a' in Latin lie — nane in Scotch or 

English. Some be enemies in a blind, to pat me aff his 

track. To Brice's barn surely I was tipped for Robin 

hidin', in his place to find a lassie bloomin'. But one tip 

yet I hae and tak for Gospel. 
Robin: Prithee, tell me. 
Peacock: That the skellum, leaving for Greenock, will be at 

hame this night next, to mither and a' to say fareweel, and 

there, to execute the warrant, Johnnie will be. 
Robin: And might execute upon a dead body. 
Peacock (excited): Wow! What mean ye? Dead body! 

Lord deliver Johnnie frae being wi' ony dead body. 
Robin: Nae pleasing companionship, certes, but why the 

break? 
Peacock: How, na lang-syne, the circumstances of a dead 

body gave Johnnie such fright and faint, I needna tell. 

In heart's deep hangs a fearsome memory, and I be 

warned against ony dead-room, as begettin' a Falling 

Sickness. 

(Pause — Robin reflecting.) 
Robin : Aweel — better tak care. If the skellum be at hame, 

may be 'twad be his body only, his soul in flight amang the 

stars. 



24 ROBERT BURNS 

Peacock: Isna he called stalwart? 

Robin: But hae ye na been told, as ye yoursel' but just now 
said, that he be sae intense melancholic — that exceedin' 
toil, bad luck, despairin' poverty, and a', hae deeply 
touched him? Sae full of warm Scots blood, mightna this 
hour of adieu to Scotland, and fareweel hand and lip to 
mither and a', be too much for life's brittle thread, already 
strained? 
(Pause.) 

Peacock: Aweel! God man his soul to bear. It be my 
last warrant chance. I need the cash. I'll tak the risk, 
which, wi' a' ye say, I canna but count small. 
(Pause.) 

Robin: Johnnie's tale is yet to hae an end. 

Peacock: What now? 

Robin: Why a helper Johnnie needs. 

Peacock : Certes : — As I hae said, some be enemies in a 
blind, to put me aff the skellum's track. What's mickle 
more, a day and a night, may be twa three, they gat me 
drunk. Sae time has been lost, precious time; for, at risk 
of fee, the warrant must be served afore the Nancy clears 
at Greenock. 

These tricks and lapses the Old Lights, Johnnie fears, 
may hae gat wind of, and, if sae, he may be fired, and 
Johnnie needs the cash. 

Robin: Whare, amang a' ye say, comes in the helper? 

Peacock: It bethought me to mak out a circuit of skellum 
hunts, had I a Jack-at-a-pinch to stand for it and set it 
out, and sae help me at the Meeting. 
(Pause.) 

Robin (aside) : To be at this meeting, I wad tak a giant 
risk. 
(Pause.) 



ROBERT BURNS 25 

Robin: How could I a helper be, and na a disguised bearded 

man, withoutten anither name? 

(Pause — Robin reflecting.) 
Robin: Something might be done. Tomorrow evening's 

edge meet me, as Andy Cargill,at the weeping birch afront 

the manse of Pastor Auld. 

CURTAIN 



ACT II 



ACT II 

Scene: Room at manse of Rev. William Auld. Time: Even- 
ing. Old Light Pastors and Elders present: Reverends 
William Auld, John Russell, James McKinlay, Andrew 
Mitchell, William Peebles, and others. 
It is understood, that the members move about, more or less 
— that short colloquies may be conducted from seats — that 
others speak standing and in a formal way. 
They meet under special circumstances of excitement — all 
charged for explosions. 

McKinlay (rising): My dear Brethern, we being here for 
a most important purpose, I think our meeting should be 
of formal character, and therefore suggest, that Brother 
Auld be called to the chair. 
(Pause y McKinlay awaiting reply to suggestion.) 
Hearing no objection, I declare my suggestion unani- 
mously carried. 

(Pastor Auld takes chair, and appoints Rev. Alexander 
Moodie Secretary.) 

(Door rings. Enter two seedy-looking old men, servant an- 
nouncing John Peacock and Andrew Cargill, the latter 
(Burns) with grizzly beard and gray hair. They take rear 
seats.) 

Auld: For your presence, my dear Brethern, let me thank 
you. Your counsels are needed. An angry cloud im- 
pends. This poetaster. Burns, has allied himself enthusi- 
astically with the New Light faction, and that we, of the 
orthodox Old Lights, have in him an adversary to be 
taken into account, will not be denied. 
His fugitive, written-out, pieces had aroused, we all know, 
a remarkable local interest. Genius sparkled in them; 



30 ROBERT BURNS 

and when it became noised about, that his poems were 
passing through the Kilmarnock press, and racy leakings 
got out, the interest mounted. The booklet has appeared. 
To Ayrshire it is a revelation. Extraordinary enthusiasm 
is greeting it. 

Unhappily, we were forced into conflict with the heresies 
of these New Lights before this recruit of theirs turned up. 
With the bellows of Vulcan he fans the fire, lampooning 
us, you see, most vilely. 

Notwithstanding, instead of being as one amidst the heat 
and danger of the hour, divisions among our own selves, 
regarding this rustic and his work, most unfortunately 
have arisen. 

Dear Brethern, your ear: {Most impressive) Orthodoxy is 
challenged. To grasp the situation — to get together and gel 
busy — to see what can he done to offset this powerful re- 
enforcement on the other side — is a plain, pressing, 

PARAMOUNT DUTY- 

McKiNLAY (rising): Heart and soul I am with the Chair. 
The author of such pieces as " The Ordination," " The 
Holy Fair," " The Kirk*s Alarm," we dare not shut eyes 
upon. His versifications — 

Miller (interrupting) : Let me amend my Brother's phrase- 
ology, and, for the scope of " versifications," add pro- 
fanations. 

Russell: I would further amend, and add villifications; for 
the mad-man's hand is against God and man alike. 

McKinlay: His versifications, profanations, villifications 
(laughter) — any more emendations (great laughter) ? I 
am open for record (laughter). 

Russell: Why not cap with self-damnations (rattling laugh- 
ter, and cries of *' hear,^^ ** hear,'*), seeing the fellow evi- 
dently is marked for judgment? 

McKinlay: His versifications, profanations, villifications, 



ROBERT BURNS 31 

self -damnations {laughter) — any more {great laughter) ? 
The string may bear elongations {bursts of laughter). 
These fulminations, then, bunching the lot — fresh, in 
book form, from the Kilmarnock press — are being seized 
upon, right and left, up and down, by high and by low, 
at the street corner, in castle and in cot-house, and an 
adversary, Brethern, to the Old Light cause indeed has 
arisen. 
Miller: And what further may not follow, and of what 

depths, who can tell? 
Russell: For information you might call up the office of his 
Satanic Majesty {tumult of laughter and clapping). The 
mad-man holds correspondence there, and you would get 
depths enough {renewed laughter). ' 
Peebles: We are compelled. Gentlemen, to admit the power 
of this man, and, as Scotsmen, feel pride in it, apart from 
its direction. 
Russell: Power! — Power! — Yes, it may be — but what 
power, sir.?' Verily, the devil's, who stands at his right 
hand. Is the Reverend William Peebles — enrolled and 
rated, as he is, among the pillars of the Kirk — ready to 
avow pride in the works of the devil .^ 
{Sensation, and loud cries of ** hear! " " hear! ") 
Mitchell: Brother William is disposed to be tender to the 

arch Arminian. 
Peebles: Ha! What fine mare's nest is this my dear 
Brother has stumbled on? His faculty of discrimination 
indeed is abroad. I was expressing simply the natural 
pride a Scotsman ought to feel in a countryman's bril- 
liant gifts, however much their use may be deplored. 
Mitchell: And is no touch of tenderness involved, no lurk- 
ing of a bias? 
Peebles: Bias, forsooth, my dear Brother! If bias, in what 
direction, pray? Any necessary bias toward this rustic 



32 ROBERT BURNS 

Rhymer's sibs I fail to see. With all our Brother's elect 
qualities, he is overtaken sometimes by ludicrous con- 
fusion of ideas. 

Mitchell (aroused) : I challenge, sir, an instance. 

Peebles: Whose recent invocation, then, for the royal 
family, was it, that took on this expression: God bless the 
king, and his Majesty, the Queen, and her Royal High- 
ness, the Prince of Wales? 
(Rattling laughter. Chair raps to order.) 

Peebles: Challenges being in order, I challenge myself, sir, 
the showing of a shadow of a shade of bias, in aught I've 
said or done, toward the profanations and abominations 
of this rustic Bard. 

Mitchell: Recalling *' The Kirk's Alarm," as reported to 
me (I've been unable to secure a copy of the booklet, so 
rapidly has it been taken), " Rob the Rhymer," as he 
styles himself — 

Russell: Pardon the interruption, Brother, but the mad- 
man's styling should rather be "Rob, the Ranter." 
(Laughter.) 

Mitchell: Very well — " Rob, the Ranter," is so very tender 
with Brother William, sweetly patting him as *' Poet 
W^illie," while be-spattering the rest of us. 
(Laughter y with claps, and cries of " hear!'' ^^hear! ") 

Peebles: If " Rob, the Ranter," in the extravagance of 
assertion, chose to pen it so, my Brother hints an infer- 
ence. What, let me ask.f* 

Mitchell: That the doctrine of reciprocal favors is ap- 
pealing. 

Russell: This reporter, if actually he has seen " The Kirk's 
Alarm," has foisted upon Brother Peebles a practical joke 
of monster proportions. Ha, ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha! 

Peebles (aroused) : What can our dear Brother mean? 

Russell: That the expression *' Poet Willie " the Rhymster, 



ROBERT BURNS S3 

in the next line, opens up, leaving knocked pat into a 
cocked hat Brother Mitchell's " patting sweetly," and the 
compliment left handed and mal-odorous completely. 
{Great laughter.) 
Peebles {bristling): Again I ask, what can our Brother 

mean? 
Russell: This, my dear sir: A copy of the vile piece I have 
seen myself, and to the phrase " Poet Willie " the Rhymer 
gives a let down unco silly; or, if you take it a let up, he 
describes the Poet's road unco hilly. 
{Great laughter.) 
Peebles {red hot) : I demand, now, before these Brethern and 
in the presence of God, that the Gentleman interpret his 
riddles. 
Russell: Does not " Rob, the Rhymer," then, our Brother 
describe, as one who Pegasus can never bestride, getting J_^ 
no nearer the winged steed, than to smell the place where 
he dungs. 

{Profound sensation, with loud cries of *' hear! " *' hear! " 
Chair raps to order.) 
Peebles {red hot) : So, the Rev. John Russell verily has seen 
"The Kirk's Alarm." A copy of this precious publica- 
tion I, like many others, have been unable, in the rush 
after it, to secure, and know it only as reported. As re- 
ported — correctly, I take it — the Rhymster names one 
" Rumble John " of tremendous voice, competent, in the 
Rhymster 's words, to " roar every note of the damned.'' 
My Reverend Brother {hand-wave to Pastor Russell), no 
doubt, was observant here, as in other parts of this piece, 
and scarcely could hesitate, as no other would, in placing 
his finger immediately on the original. 
Russell (rec^ hot) : And, prithee, what of that, sir.? The vital 
question recurs: Could our Reverend Brother himself de- 
liver God's message more forcibly and better? 



34 ROBERT BURNS 

Peebles : Merely I would suggest, that our Boanerges should 
limit his " damned roarings," in the interest of some, at 
least, of his hearers, to whom the raptures of heaven offer 
argument more appealing than the terrors of hades — all 
love, all joy, all praises, no roasting in blue blazes. 
{Bursts of laughter.) 

Russell {fast^ furious, resounding) : Very well, sir, very well, 
nothing loathe, believe me, it being distinctly understood, 
that, from roastings, I except those who are disposed to 
be apologists for this mad-man, this rabid, ribald Rhym- 
ster. 

(Addressing Chair) The atrocious charge, sir, of having a 
God-given tongue I shall neither palliate nor deny. As 
to its alleged manner of use, I am nowise disturbed. My 
Reverend Brother has a mouth and a tongue of his own, 
and, if he cannot bite, he can bark. 
(Sensation — cries of *' hear! " " hear! ") 
In reference to this mad-man. Burns, he is unblest in his 
very locality. From the period, when it was the centre 
of such bloody family feuds as that of the Kennedys — 
w^hen, in the broad light of day, one scarcely could walk 
the streets with safety — Ayr has the legacy of a wicked 
spirit, and in its atmosphere, sir, this mad-man was born 
and bred. 

Some original turn of thought in this rustic must be al- 
lowed. His card is an impious audacity. It startles — 
for a day. Tomorrow — why, sir, tomorrow he is doomed 
to drop out of sight, his reputable pieces overwhelmed, 
buried, lost in the dirt of his unparalleled vulgarity, sala- 
city, profanity! 
(Resounding amens). 

Personally, he is a fine representative of his salacious 
lines. Do not his loves change with every moon? Is he 
not a notable cock of the roost, a libertine by eminence, 



ROBERT BURNS 35 

with his hundred sweet-hearts a goat of excessive ability ! 
{Loud cries of " hear! " '* hear! ") 

And apart from his formally wicked phase, how can an 
elegant mind, knowing him, be affected toward him? 
His pieces measure his aesthetic character. What is that 
character? Is he not, sir, the very equivalent for preten- 
tiousness? Is not his heart, as he himself confesses, ever 
panting for distinction? Is he not ashamed of his circum- 
stances, burning to be thought of as something finer 
than he is? Though a villager, does he not, in speaking, 
studiously avoid all crude village expressions? What 
means this affecting, in his speech, the gentleman of ele- 
gance? Is he laboring to accommodate himself to the 
conventions of society and aristocracy? Has ridiculous 
ambition been secretly nourishing the idea of appearing at 
the Capital? Is this rustic dreaming to strut among the 
literary lights there? Dream of Alnaschar! Impudence 
in excelsis: 

{Vociferous applause — cries of " hear! '* " hear! '' — 
** lay on! " " lay on! " Chair raps to order.) 
And this man, sir, of such a character, by profession an 
Arminian, at heart an infidel, by rule a bibulous and tav- 
ern habitue, who rides a whirlwind assaulting the Kirk, 
a torrent of ridicule upon its representatives, the joy of 
the New Light, the stress of the Old Light, the street jeer 
of the Reverend Pastors, can any one, sir, be of us {sig- 
nificant glance at Pastor Peebles) who, with bias and 
apologetic air, softly approaches this man? Is the Trojan 
horse within this city of God? What, Mr. President, is 
the Presbytery for, but to apply the test of orthodoxy? 
Should not steps — 

{Pastor Auld, deeply moved by the turn of the meeting, with 
resounding hand upon table and springing to his feet, 
breaks in) : 



36 ROBERT BURNS 

AuLD {tremendously energetic and impressive): God's mercy 
on us, my distracted Brethern! Here we are — at what? 
Why, pelting each other — bad, bad enough, God knows; 
but worse indeed, when the missiles are those very ones 
which this arch adversary, against whom we have met 
together to consider self-protection measures, is, himself , 
furnishing and hurling at us! Gracious Heaven! 
Have we totally lost our wits? Has this Kilmarnock edi- 
tion absolutely crazed us? For myself I feel humiliated — 
for you I am ashamed — I am amazed — I feel affrighted — 
I tremble. Can God be with us? Lord have mercy upon 
us : For God's sake, my Brethern, I do beseech you to re- 
tire a moment to the closet of the heart, and learn what 
we are, and why, at this moment, we are here! 
{The brilliant light suddenly is out. The orchestra suddenly 
has ceased. In an instant all is dark and still. — A few mo- 
ments pass. The light is on. Pastor Auld^s prayer-appeal 
has won.) 

Russell {to Chair. Subdued, impressive) : This Kilmarnock 
edition, dear sir, has turned loose among us the imps of 
Satan, to turn our heads. As apologist in chief, I with- 
draw all reflections, all insinuations {hand-wave toward 
Rev. Peebles), and everything, I do solemnly declare, I do 
put aside, to accomplish the object of this meeting, in con- 
certing, if possible, protective measures against the malig- 
nant star arisen among us. 
{''Hear!'' ''hear!'') 

Peebles: With my Reverend Brother I shake willing hands; 
and am I not assured, that the spirit of his sentiments is 
that of this godly company? 
{Chorus of low, intense yeas.) 

Auld: Right cordially, my dear Brethern, do I salute this 
spirit. To our task: To underrate this adversary will 
never do. Whatever, in the future, may be his standing, 
we are bound to consider Burns, as he is today. 



ROBERT BURNS 37 

McKinlay: True, most true, Tis folly to deny to him a 
bold and original genius, which, as now the recognized 
champion of the New Lights, he is directing against us in 
frightening energy of expression. 

Miller: Orthodoxy, in West Scotland, verily is challenged. 
Of satire this man Burns is a master. Already his heretical 
sayings are on the rounds like winge^d things. 

McKinlay: Insects busy with pestiferous stings. 

Peebles : And spicing even the sport of the rabble with their 
flings. 

Mitchell: To that I can bear witness. What think you of 
such as this on the '* go,'* which yesterday, on the public 
square of Monkton, within my hearing, a corner gang 
quoted at me from " The Kirk's Alarm," one giving out; 
" Say, are Calvin's sons sure of their spiritual guns.^^ " 
And a fellow cad answering: ** Ain't they crack stuff, wi' 
hearts holdin' powder enough, and skulls store-houses of 
lead? " 
(Sensation.) 

Auld: And that atrocious attack in " Holy Willie's Prayer " 
upon our W illiam Fisher, my friend and my Elder, now in 
retreat from the winks and finger-ends of the street! 
(Sensation — cries of *' hear! " '* hear! ") 

Auld: Think of it, my Brethern ! Terrible! terrible! What 
heart, hitherto, ever conceived so insulting an appeal 
to heaven! What praying lips were ever supposed to 
utter so vile a piece, and those the lips of a Ruling 
Elder. 
(Sensation — cries of ''hear!'' ''hear!'' 

Auld: Excusing his self-confessed lewdness on the probable 
plea of being allowed of God, lest the super-eminence of 
his heavenly gifts, without such check, should expose him 
to spiritual pride! 
(Profound sensation — cries of " hear! " *' hear! ") 



38 ROBERT BURNS 

AuLD : tempora ! mores I Where can be found the word 

for the abomination! 
Russell: Satan's dictionary might give it. 
Peebles {intense): Gentlemen, gentlemen, we must act. 

Shall the mad-man go on like a vulture swooping down 

upon us, with talons and beak for blood? 
Miller: And perhaps with increasing malevolence? What 

can be done? 
AuLD : I have invited my Brethern hither, in order that they 

might consider the situation. 
Miller: Has Brother Auld a proposition? 
Auld: First, a word with these new-comers. 

John Peacock {addressing Peacock) — 
Peacock : Ay, sir — but Johnnie, na John, may it please your 

worship, be the better way. 
Auld: Certainly, as you wish, though John strikes me as a 

more dignified address for an old man and oflScer of the 

law. 
Peacock: Na, na, whan bad luck strikes Johnnie down and 

out. 
Burns: Ay, ay, Johnnie. Wi' wind and tide fair in our tail, 

we can be unco dignified and good; but what in the teeth 

of both to sail? 
Peacock: Ay, ay, Andy — then Johnnie be no for dignity, 

but what smacks of sympathy on the edge of the Johnnie 

name, and invites. 
Burns: And invites! Losh man! And bad luck still strik- 
ing Johnnie? Angel creatures there be now and then, but 

och! pestilentially bad be the general run of men. 
Auld: To those of my Brethern, uninformed as to all the 

circumstances of the situation, let me say, that Johnnie 

Peacock, a business unfortunate, a peculiar, a man of 

learning and antiquarian tastes, and but yesterday among 

us, is a bailiff, with warrant, issued at the instance of the 



ROBERT BURNS 39 

parish guardians, for the arrest of this man Burns, in con- 
nection with an intrigue. 

Miller: Simply for an intrigue? I've heard of complica- 
tions. 

Auld: For a year's support of the child unborn, so many 
pounds, ten, I hear, the jail being the sanction. 

Russell: Is the mad-man unable to pay? 

Auld: So it appears; and he is endeavoring, by hay-cock 
and otherwise hidings, to escape the bailiff, until, by 
ship now due at Greenock, he can make for the West 
Indies — so they say. 

Peebles: Self -expatriation ! The finger of God! Riddance 
of his person means riddance of his pen. 

Mitchell: Provided he expatriates far enough. 

Peebles: Why, across the sea it is to be, to the West Indies, 
as Brother Auld tells us, they say. Would you have him 
expatriate to far Cathay? 

Peebles: Evidently, the thing for us to do, would be to 
satisfy the warrant, a trifle, and help the ribald Rhymster 
to the West Indies. In my humble judgment safety from 
further blasts on expatriation hinges. 

Miller: Brother Peebles' humble judgment it may be, but, 
to my way of thinking, a snap judgment. 

Peebles: We all, physically, are on seat, or on feet, but psy- 
chologically on tiptoe for the grounds of Brother Miller's 
opinion. 

Miller: Why, sir, an ardent Scotsman, as he's represented 
to be, and embittered by being forced his native land to 
flee, might we not expect his fulminations, triply charged, 
to be fired back, like Parthian arrows, to plague us? 

Peebles : Did my Brother ever hear of, or read of, or think 
of, torrid zone poets worth the name? Would not his in- 
spiration ooze out with the perspiration? 
{Laughter.) 



40 ROBERT BURNS 

Miller : But here we have a frozen one, so to speak, out of 
the North, and, thawed and opened up under the equator, 
w^ould he not be tenfold a fire-brand and a hater? 
(Round laughter.) 

AuLD : Pleasing exchanges, my dear Brethern, but what bear- 
ing have they on the purpose of our deliberations? Not 
a tittle. If we are to employ Johnnie Peacock, as some of 
us already have been doing, and as I shall propose to this 
meeting to continue to do, expatriation must needs be 
thrown out. Peacock, in the interest of the warrant, 
being bound to the parish guardians to prevent, as he can, 
Greenock embarkation, another word, to all intents, for 
expatriation. 

Russell: Has Brother Auld, then, a practical advisement 
looking to protection against this mad-man and hay-cock 
absconder? 

Auld: So I have just intimated. 

Russell: Yes — the bud has appeared. We all are ready 
for the bloom. 

Auld: My advice is to fee Johnnie Peacock to press with 
renewed activity the execution of the warrant, no less for 
our interest, than for that of the Parish Guardians, 
whose legal agent, as bailiff, he is. 

McKinlay: That means the jail. 

Auld : Yes — Burns being unable to satisfy the money end 
of the warrant. 
(Pause.) 

Elder Muir : What effect imprisonment may have in letting 
the man down a peg and withdrawing a scoffer pen, we 
cannot say. We may indulge a hope. 

Mitchell: That, at least, it may smudge his wings to check 
this unhallowed soaring near the skies. 

McKinlay: At any rate, it is something practical, offered 
on the spot to our hand. 



ROBERT BURNS 41 

Russell: With genuine satisfaction I take Brother Auld's 
advice, and for the sound reason (for which advice gener- 
ally is taken), that it falls in with my inclination. 
{Laughter.) 

Russell: For mad men the jail is the proper den. Let the 
absconder go there, to his doom. 

Mum: To his doom? Do you mean his tomb.^* 

Peebles: His verse, or his vitality? 

Russell {addressing Muir): Dost thou know aught of the 
absconder's personality? 

Mum: Nothing to the point. 

Russell: Know, then, that his sensibility, as reported, is 
an exaggerated super, the extremest, of one born without 
a skin, as said of the infidel Rousseau. The jail, a mortal 
terror and a shock, would it not break his spirit — nay, 
the thread of life itself {speech and manner intense) ? 

Meeting: Amen, amen! 

AuLD : Already some of us have been feeing Johnnie Peacock, 
like Esau of old a "cunning hunter," to press the warrant 
and have promised a bonus, when he lands. To my 
Brethern I shall look for aid in the matter. 

McKinlay: This meeting, I am sure, backs Brother Auld, 
and, hearing no voice to the contrary^ {pauses, looking 
around), I anticipate, and declare the would-be motion 
carried unanimously and with great applause. 

Mum : Let us then rally our Peacock to the chase, spurring 
the willing horse. Brother Auld backs him O. K., as a 
good-to-bet-on bird of prey. 
{Round laughter.) 

Auld: He is here to report upon the hunt. 

{Addressing Peacock) I see that Johnnie Peacock has a 
companion. 

Peacock: Ay, ay, your worship. 

Auld: A helper on the hunt? 



42 ROBERT BURNS 

Peacock: Ay, ay, sir. 

Auld: Already he has made us sensible of his presence. As 

coming within our fee and bonus, we have an interest in 

asking: Who, what, and whence he is. 
Peacock : He looks years and size enough, and is wise enough 

to speak for himsel'. 
Burns: Andy Cargill, your Worship, and at your service. 

Lord preserve us a' frae the gallows, that shameful death. 

{Meeting shows amazement at sentiment.) 
Russell {stage whisper): Crazy man hunting mad-man. 

War when they meet. 
Burns: Andy, sir, be a true blue Scot, wi' hame in the 

** Highlands," whare he was born na to drink the sweet, 

or eat the fat; patient, sir, wi' the man of Uzz yet in the 

lead; and a justified billie, sir, whan ye speak him fair, 

and strake him cannie wi* the hair. 

{Applause.) 
Russell: Stroke t'other way, then, means what — wild cat.^^ 
Burns: Wad it na be just as easy to say " Highland Wel- 
come .^^ " 
Peebles: But would it be just as true ? 
Burns: Enough that Andy does, as wad the man of Uzz — 

he be patient. Reverend sirs. 

{Laughter.) 
Peebles: Happily answered, and bespeaks our Andy a 

happy sort of billie. 
Burns: Happy as the minister wha kissed the fiddler's wife, 

and couldna preach for thinking of it. 
Russell: Remarkable, when love should have been a text 

so insinuating. 
Burns: Happy .^^ Ay, ay. Happy here to help Johnnie, my 

good auld cockie. He's the ace and choice of honest men; 

and no that, too, for terror of damnation. It's just a 

carnal inclination. 

{Applause.) 



ROBERT BURNS 43 

Burns : Lang syne in the Highlands we twa were unco thick 
thegither. Love bUnked, wit slapped, and we forgat 
there's care upon the earth. Casting our colt's teeth, we 
betook oursels' to curious learning, picking out the anti- 
quarian trade. 

Moodie: (Noting Andy's seedy look): Apparently, the trade 
has not been profitable. 

Peacock: Andy, for profits, has been rummaging too mickle 
round year No. 1, for things he couldna gat at all — as 
Eve's petticoat. 

Burns : Didna Andy give it up, because that piece of fig-leaf 
handiwork, prized and preserved, had been eat by a goat 
in the Ark.^ 

Peacock: Anither dead failure was a coin of Satan's coro- 
nation. 

Burns : Dead failure ! Stuff and nonsense ! Na, na! Because 
nae one, at ony price, could be hired to gae below for it. 
(Round laughter.) 

Burns: Weel — upon us, one day, blew the bitter biting 
north, and wha were friends in fair weather, became 
brithers in foul. 
(Applause.) 

AuLD : You are here, then, to aid a needy brother. 

Burns : Ay, ay. Johnnie gat me word his pith began to fail, 
and iVndy's here. 

Peacock: Besides, Johnnie has lost his trackin' hound. 

Burns: Poisoned, nae doubt, by those rantin', rovin', billie 
friends of skellum Burns. 

Peacock: Tanko was a faithful bitch. 

Burns: I'm aye for that. We twa carry her weeds. Sense 
and fidelity, your worship, be prime qualities; and whan 
they meet in one in whom we can confide, we draw high 
thegither, and twa more legs dinna much matter. 
(Pause.) 



44 ROBERT BURNS 

Auld: What news of his man has Johnnie Peacock? 

Peacock: We hae been hot on his heels, slippin' frae hame 
to hame amang his friends. 

Auld: Take good care to hide him — eh? 

Peacock: Ay, ay, sir — sleepin' him in barns and under 
haycocks. We hae followed him a' round and round — 
were weel on his tracks up and down the Nith, frae its 
birth in the wilds of New Cumnock, to the Solway, the 
lovely winding Nith, whare sae oft he be seen musin' 
— at Kilmarnock amang the weavers — at Irvine amang 
the sailors — 

Burns (Interrupting) : Och, at Irvine ! We canna f orgat, 
sir, that night at Irvine, that nighty sir. Our travels 
mainly must be by night, whan ghosts and witches hap 
and tricks be handy. 

Auld: What hap at Irvine? 

Burns: Hap indeed, sir. Had tip, sir, to round up the 
skellum there. (The following in highly-declamatory 
style) : We were toddlin' down by Willie's mill. The new- 
moon stared o'er Cumnock's distant hill. The trusty 
hound was trottin' by, wi' nose agog the scent to try, if 
the hay-loft, whare we'd been tipped, should show the 
slippery skellum slipped. 
(Applause.) 

Burns: (High declamation continued): 'Twas an unco skel- 
lum squad, and tight, met us, for tricks, that Irvine 
night, e'en wi' Luna's beams on a' sae bright. Bamboozle 
stuff they gat in finely — rich foaming ale that drank 
divinely. We twa anon did gat fu' canty. Wha says 
drunk? Avaunt! We just had plenty. But me they jolli- 
fied and swore, that Andy C. was half seas o'er, and dared 
me Luna's horns to score. Wi' a' my power I did set 
mysel', but whether she had three or four I couldna tell. 
(Great applause.) 



ROBERT BURNS 45 

Russell: Andy must be our orator. 

Peacock: In such ways, sir, by skellum squads, hae we been 
sair stopped. 

Burns: One weel nigh stopped Johnnie's breath. 

Auld: Indeed! Tell us, Johnnie. We shall see, that the 
quest trials are not forgotten in the fee. 

Burns: Andy must tell of such a hap. Johnnie couldna, if 
he wad. He gat aff the hooks that night. 

Mitchell: Well, Johnnie is here, apparently in the flesh, to 
hear his death narrated, if he cannot narrate it himself. 
{Laughter.) 

Burns: Johnnie be in one unco fright. He fears the job's to 
be his death. Letters come ilka day, skellum squads sae 
busy, wi' naithing in them but death's auld picture — 
and such a picture, in such colors and drawn by master- 
hand: An awful scythe, out over one shoulder, clear 
dangling hangs; a three-forked fish-spear, on the ither, 
lies large and lang. Ilka letter has this awful picture and 
nane else, and Johnnie's gettin's eerie. 
We had peered about John Wilson's — through Mau- 
chne, and Tarbolton — and tarried nigh "Auld Rome 
Forest," whare lives the skellum's aunt, Dame Allen. 
{High declamatory style): That hour, of night's black 
arch the key-stone, that dreary hour saw us on way- 
home; and such a night we mak' the road in, as ne'er poor 
sinner was abroad in. The wind blew as 'twad blawn its 
last; the rattling rain rose on the blast; the lightning 
gleams the darkness swallowed; loud, deep and lang the 
thunder bellowed. That night a child might understand 
some devilish business was on hand. 
{Applause.) 

{Declamation continued) . Wl' Ayr aback we lumbered on a 
stretch of road for horrors known. Afront, auld Alio way's 
haunted kirk was nigh, whare ghosts and howlets 



46 ROBERT BURNS 

nightly cry. The doubhng storm roars through the woods; 
the roadway runs wi' ankle floods; the lightnings flash 
frae pole to pole; near and more near the thunders roll. 
Johnnie was in an eerie bother. I watched him as I'd 
watch a brother. Now, holding fast his good blue bonnet; 
now, croons, for nerves, an auld Scots sonnet; now, starin' 
round wi' prudent cares, lest witches catch him unawares. 
A lightning gleam gies nerves the rigors, glimpsing ap- 
parition figures. We just had passed the double cairns, 
whare hunters found the murdered bairns, and near the 
thorn aboon the well, whare Mungo's mither hanged 
hersel', whan Johnnie, wow! in wild alarms, stumbles to 
a dead man's arms ! He was an awful sight to see, sir, by 
lightning's gleam just glimpsed to me, sir. Each bristled 
hair stood like a stake. Johnnie, I feared, wad never 
wake. Wi' hand on hip and upward ee, his feeble pulse 
f orgat to play — he cried aloud and died away ! 
{Great applause. Cries of " hear! " " hear! ") 

Peacock: In such ways, sir, the hunt has been sair blocked, 
and by those verra' skellum squads, nae doubt. The 
loons, I wot it was, wha tricked us wi' a dummy corpse 
that stormy night, the apparition figures we glimpsed, 
finding out Johnnie's peculiar relation to a dead body, 
dooming a falling-sickness fit. 

But the end be in sight, sir. We hae a sure tip the skel- 
lum will be at hame tomorrow night wi' misting een, to 
say fareweel, as he leaves for Greenock, to dear auld 
Scotland, and to mither and a'. He be caught on the 
roost, or I be nae Peacock, and the skellum can dry his 
tears a- jail. 

Burns: Johnnie, tomorrow night, gets his victim aff the 
roost, and Andy gets aff the job I be wi' him. Then aff 
Andy gets to the Highlands, wi' a last word for Johnnie 
frae the tide of kindness that warms the heart of Andy. 



ROBERT BURNS 47 

Be deuce shy, O Johnnie, of stumbling to dead men's 
arms. Such eldritch fright be wi' ye still, that to stumble 
on a dead wad be without remead. 'Twad be like ye had 
touched anither Elisha's bones, to stand upon the feet 
and smite. 

And to ye, O Reverend sirs, in plain broad Scotch, be 
Andy's fareweel: 

(Straightened statue, hold air, resounding tone, suppressed 
anger) Andy has heard a rumble and shakes his head. 
Land of cakes, of Bruce and Wallace, justice, justice for 
a brither Scot! If no the thing he should be, if no the 
thing he would be, nor even the thing he could be, he's 
Sandy to the core, and na here to speak for himsel'. 
Wha is it says " Andy must be our orator? " — Andy is 
willin' : 

A hundred sweethearts ! — Is God to be arraigned. Rever- 
end sir (hand-wave toward Pastor Russell), for gieing a 
comely form for these women to run after .^^ Faith, sir, 
then tackle ye the women, out dressed to death and keen 
tobekillin'! 

A hundred sweethearts ! — Fudge ! — Old wives gossipy 
chagrin for faded charms that na langer win. O wives, 
O wives, be fair, be fair! Think how once yoursels' dear 
bonny lads ye wanted! 

Hundred sweethearts ! — Ony how, to step aside, sir, is 
human, and if numbers the argument must be, what 
justice for such tremendous rumble at the Scot, wi' just 
a beggarly hundred, whan the wisest man the world e'er 
saw be your Scripture down for three hundred? 
Grooming himself to strut amang the illuminati! Weel 
dear sir (wave toward Pastor Russell), if God has given 
him a true spark of nature's fire, shall he be branded for 
nursing it, to shine in its kindred sphere.^ Faith, sir! 
God himsel', then, brand. 



48 ROBERT BURNS 

And ah there! have a care, have a care, ye Reverend 
illuminati sirs, lest this nurseUng biUie overtak* ye, and 
the hay-loft absconder cock his nose aboon ye a*. Wi* ye 
" rigid righteous " — of three mile prayer and half mile 
graces — do ye think our Sandy's destiny wad shift 
places? Today ye're rich, and strut, and look big, but if 
ye lay by the hat and the wig, ye wad show, may be, a 
calf's head of small value; and in the generations, as time 
runs aff his reels, what think ye of being known but as the 
wee doggies snapping at Sandy's heels? What think ye, 
sirs, of such sole call upon fame to hand ye on? 
Shall old wives' gossip, then, imaginations, exaggerations, 
mal-representations, in voice to '* roar every note of the 
damned," (wave toward Pastor Russell) be rumbled out 
to down our Sandy for random fits of folly, and jabs at 
the cloth amang ye that's spotted, whare the more 'tis a 
truth, sir, the less 'tis a libel? 

Ah ! this def amer gies us a glance at that hideous sight, a 
naked human heart. Godly timber be scant, whare he's 
taken for a saunt. Let him repent, or get auld Hornie 
after him. He may run to hide; but wha wad cry a won- 
der at his escaping like a hay-loft absconder? Na, na ! For 
such auld Hornie's sure, shaking 'em o'er the mouth of 
hell, there to hang, and roar, and yell, tremendous 
rumble; and, if they offer to rebel, in letting 'em tumble. 
{The bearing and sentiments of Cargill, suddenly so changed^ 
strike the meeting with dumb amazement — fascinate^ as 
by a species of witchcraft, throwing a spell, checking protest 
of members, or gavel of chairman. As Cargill turns upon 
heel and dashes out, the spell is broken, Pastor Auld vocifer- 
ating above the Babel) : 
Auld (to Peacock — in thunder tones) : Bring that man back ! 
Upon my soul I beheve it's that fellow Burns! 
(The curtain drops upon a scene of wild confusion, the meet- 



ROBERT BURNS 49 

ing vociferating and gesticulating — one shouting , ** I 
thought he was too familiar with that Kilmarnock edition,** 
and another and another responding, " So did I " — " So 
did /.") 



ACT III 



ACT III 

Scene: Evening. The bed-room of Robert and Gilbert Burns, 
being the middle attic of the one-and-a-half Mossgiel farm- 
house. In the room one plain double bed, one plain table, 
three plain strong wooden chairs, one three-leg stool — all the 
circumstances indicative of straightened means. Rush candle, 
of weak light, burns on table. Branchlet of holly lies on table. 
Robert Burns and his brother Gilbert discovered entering — 
in earnest colloquy — Gilbert expostulating. 

Gilbert: Robert, Robert, canna some ither turn be tried? 

Robert: Nane sae handy and sae meet to pack aff Peacock. 

Gilbert: But — 

Robert: But what, Gilbert.^ Peacock is tipped here tonight, 
and may drap on us ony moment. 

Gilbert: But to hae Robert dead, even though a sham! 

Robert : Just a forecast for Robert dying. 

Gilbert : Robert, Robert, the parting be sair enough, with- 
outten your death-scene. 

Robert : Nae time, Gilbert, for the ass atween twa bundles 
of hay. At the sight of a corpse Peacock's infirmity, as 
ye know, taks a fit. Press my parting griefs up to whare 
he kens me dead. I gae to make ready my bier, wi' 
candle, and winding-sheet, and draping weeds, and 
mourners a', for his admittance. It will tend, fire fight- 
ing fire, to soothe the melancholy fiend within my breast. 
{Exit Robert Burns). {Gilbert in manifestations of grief.) 

Gilbert {in grief soliloquy) : Tomorrow my brither Robert 
leaves for Greenock and the West Indies — if he can out- 
wit the oflScers — hounded out of his beloved Scotland ! 
Woe's me for the family wi' my brither awa'. His leaving 
gies a fell blow. Alack, alack, for that Jean Armour scrape! 



54 ROBERT BURNS 

It has uncoupled at his heels the merciless pack of the law. 
The lee-lang week he has been dodging the oflBcers frae 
covert to covert, under a' the terrors of a jail, hiding in the 
woods by day, and in barns by night. 
{Pause — manifestations of grief.) 

Robert awa', and what, good Heavens, shall we do! The 
harvest is flat and debt gaeing up. Gently treated, we 
might warstle through our difficulties. But the laird's 
brutal scoundrel of a factor is sending insolent, threat- 
ening letters, settin* us a' in tears. Now Robert leaves, 
and what, in God's name, shall we do.? 
{Gilbert draws a paper from his pocket and attentively re- 
gards it, as he walks up and down the room. Once or more 
he stops and takes seat at table, to make some change or cor- 
rection. Then, paper in hand and walking up and down, 
continues the soliloquy). 
Gilbert: Robert gone and what's to become of us! {Grief 
demonstrations) Nane sae good wi' plow and flail. The 
harvest a failure on this cold, stiff soil — debt gaeing up 

— the factor threatening — and Robert awa' ! In God's 
name, what's to become of mither and a' ! Mossgiel farm 
must be surrendered. Nae hope, nae hope! New tenants 
must come; and they shall know, ay! they shall know the 
glory of this room ! 

{Gilbert tacks to wall the strip of paper he ha^ been handling 

— then reads it aloud, as he looks at it) : 

Gilbert: At a small plain table in this middle attic of the 
Mossgiel farm house, by the flickering light of a rush 
candle, under circumstances of drudgery and want, 
seven pounds a year limiting his personal expenses, Rob- 
ert Burns, of nights, corrected, finished up, and wrote 
out the memorable poems and sangs that took shape in 
his beautiful mind, as he followed the plow or swung the 
scythe. 
{Enter Peacock, the bailiff.) 



ROBERT BURNS 55 

Gilbert (surprised) : Wha be ye? 

Peacock: Johnnie Peacock. 

Gilbert : And why be Johnnie Peacock here at such an hour? 

Peacock: Was told down stairs Robert Burns was up here, 

hae urgent business wi* him, and wad be glad to see him. 
Gilbert (stalwart and blunt of speech) : Nae doubt, nae doubt. 

Sae wad I. 

(Pause.) 
Peacock: This be Gibbie Burns? 
Gilbert : Sae coofs name me. Wi' gentles it be Gilbert. 

(Pause.) 
Peacock: Robert's brither? 
Gilbert : I hae an ancient and rooted opinion of that fashion, 

on mither's testimony. 
Peacock: Safe limb to hang pedigree opinions on. 
Gilbert : Ay, ay — safer than some limbs of the law, wi' a 

spirit to hang and quarter. 

(Pause.) 
Peacock: Isna this Robert Burns' room? 
Gilbert: Naebody's else. 
Peacock: Yours, too, be it na? 
Gilbert: Naebody's else. 

Peacock: Sae ye mak yoursel' a naebody — eh? 
Gilbert: Ay, ay — I be a naebody, a naebody sangster. 

(Sings) . 

I hae a wife o' my ain — 

I'll partake wi' naebody. 
I'll tak cuckold frae nane; 
I'll gie cuckold to naebody. 

I hae a penny to spend; 

There — thanks to naebody. 
I hae naething to lend; 

I'll borrow frae naebody. 



56 ROBERT BURNS 

I am naebody's lord; 

I'll be slave to naebody. 
I hae a guid broad sword; 

I'll tak' dunts frae naebody. 

{The singer y as he singsy moves up and down the room. At 
the word " dunts " he is near the Bailiff, and the staff in his 
hand is made to whirl and whiz in close proximity to the 
Bailiff's head, which dodges away.) 

I'll be merry- and free; 

I'll be sad for naebody. 
If naebody care for me, 
I'll care for naebody. 

{Pause.) 
Peacock: Robert Burns isna in — eh? 
Gilbert : Canna ye see for yousel' ? Ye hae one ee that seems 

to serve ye weel. The cat has twa the very color. 
Peacock: Yes, I can see for mysel'. I hae na lookit under 

that {peering at bed). 

{He advances toward bed. Gilbert steps in his way, to stop 

him, saying.) 
Gilbert: Na, na! Nae good, and risky. 
Peacock: Ye told me to see for mysel', and I be, too, one wi' 

authority. Losh, man, I must look. 
Gilbert {stepping aside) : Aweel — as ye will, man. 

{As the Bailiff stoops and lifts the hanging cover, a deep fierce 

growl startles him. In the sudden effort to rise, under the 

circumstances, the little man tumbles over backward, as a 

powerful collie rushes out. Gilbert seizes and holds the collie 

by its collar.) 
Gilbert {to the collie, releasing dog): Back, Luath, back to 

your place. {Collie retires under bed.) {To Bailiff) Didna 

I warn ye? Ye hae found Robert's dog, if no Robert. 



ROBERT BURNS 57 

Peacock: He may be there, too {pointing to bed.) He has 
writ about ** Twa Dogs," friendly and gaeing thegither. 

Gilbert: Ha, ha, ha! Tak' the risk, and the Lord hae 
mercy on thee. 
(Pause.) 

Peacock: They told me Robert Burns was up here. 

Gilbert: And in tears, did they na? 

{Pause — Peacock looking around mystified.) 

Peacock: In weeds — if na in tears. — And there — I see 
yours {observing crape on Gilberts arm). Can he be dead? 

Gilbert {intense, and in exaggerated declamatory style, to 
carry out the design against Peacock) : Wadna that throw 
ye on beam ends, if ye knew Robert? We're a' in tears. 
Lord! has na the poor billie been taxed enough to mak' 
him dead? A poor billie! Ay, ay — his station cast by 
the fates in the verriest shades of life, and, against cher- 
ished ambitions, held there by the fates — and yet wi' a 
spark of nature's fire worth top-notch above these college 
dons. What, onyhow, be a' the jargon of their schools, 
their Latin names for horns and stools, if honest nature 
made them fools, wi' brains confused in college classes, 
wha gae in colts and come out asses? Sae richly gifted, 
this rustic born — yet sae suppressed, sae depressed — 
the buds of ambition blighted in his low dark shades of 
life ! Bitter, bitter ! What wonder, if this peculiar, agon- 
izing soul of sensibility be dead, dead, dead? 
{Peacock recalls the monition of Nannie Price.) 

Gilbert : And what wound to Robert's glowing Scots heart, 
to think of saying fareweel to dear auld Scotland, hasting, 
wi' wind and storm, to a far distant shore, whare, un- 
known, unlamented, his ashes wad rest, and joy wad re- 
visit his bosom nae more! 
{Pause.) 
And that sacred precinct, Scotland's centre, the bonny 



58 ROBERT BURNS 

banks of Ayr, what ties, what ties, bind Robert there! 
Didna the Muses breathe upon him there? Didna Coila, 
his native district Muse, even frae his natal hour cherish 
him there? Ah! it breaks his heart, these ties to tear, to 
fareweel the bonny banks of Ayr! 

(Pause. Gilbert's exceeding intensity, and air, and eye, 
fascinate Peacock, as if casting a species of spell.) 

Gilbert: The bonny banks of Ayr! And that ither tie bind- 
ing Robert there! Was ever lover sae possessed, and wi' 
small wonder — she, the sweetest flower in a' west Scot- 
land? Whare was he wont to bide the tryst wi' Jean? On 
these bonny banks of Ayr! Mustna he frae her be torn, 
bleeding frae ilka heart-fibre, as he breaks awa*? Alas! 
these ties, these ties he now must tear — adieu to bonny 
banks of Ayr! 
{Pause. Fascination deepens.) 

Gilbert: As for mysel', oh Heavens! my friend and brither, 
like thee whare shall I find anither — the wide world 
round {intense grief manifestations)? He was my billie, 
dam, and sire! He's gone, he's gone, he's frae us torn, 
the aye best fellow e'er was born. Frae mine een the 
drappin' rain must ever flow, and weep the aye best 
fellow's fate e'er lived below! 
{Pause. Peacock's countenance troubled.) 

Gilbert: Johnnie Peacock, O Johnnie, ye look ye're wi' me 
in this afliliction. Forgive my roughness just now. Mis- 
took ye for one of those uncircumcized Philistines, out wi' 
warrant for Robert. Amen, I tell ye, Johnnie, the poor 
billie has felt misfortune's cold nor'west, lang mustering 
up a bitter blast; and now, on tap of a', he's taken awa'. 
Can ye wonder we're a' in tears? 
{Pause.) 

Gilbert : Ay, ay, he's up here, as they told ye. Hae ye ever 
seen Robert? 



ROBERT BURNS 59 

Peacock: Na. 

Gilbert: Come! Ye shall see him. 
(Pause — Peacock frightened.) 

Peacock: Na, na — if he be dead. 

Gilbert : Come, come ! He be sleeping in the next room. 
(Curtain, dropping a moment, rises on death scene. Room 
darkened and in sables. In centre, catafalque upholstered 
in white. Upon it a corpse covered by white sheet. Light fo- 
cused on head of corpse. Round about catafalque mourners 
seen in weeds. Gilbert Burns and Peacock standing by 
catafalque.) 

Gilbert : You can see Robert now (from head of corpse turn- 
ing back sheet.) 

(With thrilling cry Peacock faints and falls before ghastly 
countenance. Gilbert shoulders Peacock and makes exit 
to right. Curtain, dropping a moment, rises on original 
scene. Enter Gilbert Burns from right. Enter Robert Burns 
from left.) 

Robert (serious air) : Whare is he? 

Gilbert: Speeding to Pastor Auld's and his Old Light 
fellows, awaiting the Bailiff's report. 

Robert: Recovered sae soon.^^ 

Gilbert: Restoratives, for the occasion, acted promptly. 

Robert : Bearer of joy, nae doubt. 

Gilbert : This warrant bearer — ay, ay, now a bearer of 
joy, that the arch enemy's death warrant, wi' his ain eyes, 
he has seen executed. 

Robert: He invited a fright. 

Gilbert: 'Tis to be hoped he pockets the fee sae fat, before 
the bag lets slip the cat. 

Robert: Johnnie is a canty sort of billie, and I wish him 
weel, despite the chase. In the incognito alliance I 
hae jollied — one of the few jollies that happen to my 
lot. 



60 ROBERT BURNS 

Gilbert: But you're sae intense, Robert, that one of yours 
matches mony of ours. 

Robert: Some draps of joy, wi' draughts of ill between. 
{Long pause, — Robert buried in reflection. His coloquy 
with Gilbert marked by profound dejection of spirits, with 
outbursts.) 

Robert: To Peacock, Gilbert, you have just preached my 
funeral, wi' equal truth, eloquence, and infliction. I am 
dead. The dummy is my faithful representative. You 
have renewed a' the anguish of my soul. Billows (burst 
of excitement) rage again — gales blow hard — storm of 
care and grief in wild fury sweeps over me. Hail (transport) 
thou gloomy night, meet companion of m.y spirit! Hail 
thou howling winter that muffles up his cloak and binds 
^ ^ ^^the mire like a rock! Chilly grief my life-blood freezes! 
Lt*.*.'/ Fell despair my fa^ty seizes! 
(Gilbert weeps.) 

Gilbert: Woe's me, my dear brither! I should hae known 
better. It was to carry out your ain idea, to scare the 
Bailiff awa'. 

Robert: You drew such a picture, 

Gilbert : The expression of my ain deep grief, my dear 
brither — a flood I couldna repress. 
(Pause.) 

Robert: I am ready to bid the world good night. The hour 
moves me. 

Gilbert: I know, Robert, I know. It must. I am deeply 
deeply moved mysel'. Ilka moment my thoughts be 
upon your leaving us. I canna divert them. 
(Pause.) 

Robert: What solace for a soul, Gilbert, in a world 'gainst 
peace in constant arms — life a galling load — itsel' a 
disease.? 

Gilbert : I wot of but one relief. 



ROBERT BURNS 61 

Robert: And what is that? 

Gilbert: A correspondence fixed wi' Heaven. 

Robert: Has the cry been heard? 

(Pause.) 
Robert: Wi' those friends down stairs, to say me good-bye, 

I ran on just now over the death-scene. Surface play, 

Gilbert. Within, the eve of leaving crushes me. I repeat 

recent lines to a friend: 

You think I'm glad — Oh! I pay weel 

For a* the joy I borrow. 

In solitude (then, then I feel) 

I canna to mysel' conceal 

My deeply-ranklin' sorrow. 

Fareweel! Within thy bosom free 

A sigh may whiles awaken, 
A tear may wet thy laughin' ee 
For Scotia's son, once gay like thee. 

Now hopeless, comfortless, forsaken! 

(Pause. Gilbert in tears.) 

Gilbert: The present moment, Robert, wi' a' its load, is our 
ain. The next we never saw. It may hold something. 

Robert: Time canna aid me. My griefs are immortal. I 
hae turned my een to behold madness and folly, and too 
often shaken hands wi' their intoxicating friendship. 

Gilbert: Whose page, Robert, is spotless? 

Robert : 'Tis Robert wha sits and counts his sins by chapters. 
(Pause.) 

Gilbert: Life is a struggle and a trial, Robert, and should 
it na be sae accepted by us? 

Robert : True — the canniest way the strife is sair. To 
some, made up like mysel', intensely ssiir. There is, Gil- 
bert, as ye know too weel, a foggy atmosphere native to 



62 ROBERT BURNS 

my soul in the hour of trial, like these days of toil-beat 
nerves and tear-worn ee, making the dreary objects seem 
larger than the life. Extreme sensibility, irritated and 
prejudiced on the gloomy side by a series of misfortunes 
and disappointments at that period of my existence, whan 
the soul be laying in her cargo of ideas for the voyage of 
life, — this is, I believe, the chief cause of my unhappy 
gloom of mind, melancholy marking me for her ain. 
(Pause.) 

Robert: One light breaks through the gloom. 

Gilbert: Thank God for that, though I dinna know 
what. 

Robert: Jean, wha is sae dear to me, I hae joyously met in 
my hidings, smoothing it a'. It was a hasty hazard half- 
hour, but wi' golden minutes, on angel wings, flying o'er 
us; for the dear girl I love to distraction. 

Gilbert: And thank God for that, too. And God grant ye 
back frae the Indies wi' cash to happily establish ye. 

Robert : If na to die there — buried there — all forgetting 
— all forgot — trod in the mire and out of sight ! 

Gilbert: Na, na, na, Robert. Why na ye, whan sae mony 
hae won there? 

Robert: Ah! Gilbert, Gilbert, never was I a knave, but hae 
been a fool a' my life, never weighing moves, and, despite 
a' efforts, now plainly see I never shall be wise, or a 
gatherer of gear. 

Gilbert: Enough, onyhow, God grant, for the sweet simple 
life, wi' real wants sae few. 

Robert: And sae few to cast anchor there. 

Gilbert: Ay, ay, ranting round in pleasure's ring and 
blinded. 

Robert : Wi' here and there a random sting, but, God knows, 
little minded. 
(Pause — Robert Burns buried in reflection.) 



ROBERT BURNS 63 

Robert : How long hae I lived, and how much lived in vain ! 
(Pause.) 

Gilbert: Muster cheer, Robert, muster cheer. Crowned 
by the fame your grand gifts must yet bring, shouldna 
anither light, Robert, be breaking? 

Robert: Grand gifts, indeed! 

Gilbert: Yes, Robert, grand gifts. Dinna they interpret 
the depths of Scotland's peasant heart? Mustna these 
beautiful sangs and pieces yet fill Caledonia's ear, giving 
ye a name? I forecast in ye the Bard of Scotland, and 
thrice happy that Bard should be, and blest! 

Robert: Grand gifts, indeed! You want, Gilbert, my hair- 
brained imagination, my social and amorous madness, 
and eternal propensity to fall in love; but in gifts worth 
the name, in good sense and ilka sober qualification, I 
hold you to be by far my superior. 

Gilbert: But what, again, of your bardie gifts? The bril- 
liant glimpses ye hae given must yet hae a perfect day. 
See! I hae brought a branchlet of holly (taking up the 
holly from table) to crown ye, ere ye gang awa', the Bard 
o' Scotland! 

Robert (intense manner) : Awa' wi' the poet's leaves! Awa'! 
awa' ! awa' ! I despair, Gilbert, of ever making a figure in 
this world. I am no formed either for the bustle of the 
busy or the flutter of the gay. Into such scenes never again 
shall I be capable of entering. I have nursed ambitions, 
but they are vanishing. To all aspiring thoughts of 
this life I am becoming dead. I am in the slough o' 
despond, want-stricken and desperate, hunted day and 
night by the myrmidons o' the law, and ticketed an exile 
frae my native land, my box even now, as ye know, being 
at Greenock for shipment to Jamaica. That poverty and 
obscurity nae doubt await me, I foresee. Prospects for 
me! Na! Na! 



64 ROBERT BURNS 

— Backward I cast my ee 

On prospects drear; 
And forward, though I canna see, 

I guess and fear. 

As for poesy, half mad, half fed, half clad, by the Eternal 
I am ready to swear, that henceforth I will be rhyme- 
proof, till — 

Gilbert {interrupting with great energy): Robert! Robert! 
my brither! crush that rash, infant oath, and come.'* tak' 
the bed ye sairly need. 

Robert : Nae bed till midnight and the Bailiff's hour gone. 
Peacock may get instructions frae Pastor Auld that per- 
haps he has been tricked, and return. I'll nap it here at 
my seat. Tak' the light to the kitchen and keep watch. 
{Exit Gilbert Burns with rush-light.) 

{Robert Burns falls asleep on his chair with head resting on 
arms crossed on the table. His bonnet and the holly 
branchlet lie near him on table. In the darkened room, the 
Poefs form just visible, a light slowly develops, focused on 
the Bard. Presently, out of the midst of it, the outlines of a 
weird form gradually appear; and finally, with the mystic 
hand of blessing hovering over the Bard's head, a voice is 

heard.) . . , , ^ 

All hail! my own mspired Bard! 

In me thy native Muse regard; 

Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard, 

Thus poorly low! 
I come to give thee such reward 

As we bestow. 

Know, the great genius of this land 
Has many a light aerial band. 
Who, all beneath his high command, 

Harmoniously, 
As arts or arms they understand, 

Their labors ply. 



ROBERT BURNS 65 

They Scotia's race among them share; 
Some fire the soldier on to dare; 
Some rouse the patriot up to bare 

Corruption's heart; 
Some teach the bard, a darUng care, 

The tuneful art. 

Some, bounded to a district-space. 
Explore at large man's infant race. 
To mark the embriotic trace 

Of rustic bard. 
And careful note each opening grace, 

A guide, a guard. 

Of these am I, Coila my name, 

And this district as mine I claim. 

Where once the Campbells, chiefs of fame, 

Held ruling power, 
I mark'd thy embryo-tuneful flame. 

Thy natal hour. 

With future hope I oft would gaze, 
Fond, on thy little early ways. 
Thy rudely caroU'd, chiming phrase. 

In uncouth rhymes, 
Fired at the simple, artless lays 

Of other times. 

I saw thee seek the sounding shore. 
Delighted with the dashing roar; 
Or, when the north his fleecy store 

Drove through the sky, 
I saw grim nature's visage hoar 

Struck thy young eye. 



66 ROBERT BURNS 

Or, when the deep green-mantled earth, 
Warm, cherish'd every floweret's birth, 
And joy and music pouring forth 

In every grove, 
I saw thee eye the general mirth 

With boundless love. 

When youthful love, warm, blushing, strong, 
Keen-shivering shot thy nerves along. 
Those accents, grateful to thy tongue, 

Th' adored name, 
I taught thee how to pour in song. 

To soothe thy flame. 

I taught thy manners painting strains, 
The loves, the ways, of simple swains. 
Till now, o'er all my wide domains 

Thy fame extends. 
And some, the pride of Coila's plains. 
Become thy friends. 

Thou canst not learn, nor can I show, 
To paint with Thomson's landscape glow; 
Or wake the bosom-melting throe. 

With Shenstone's art; 
Or pour, with Gray, the moving flow 

Warm on the heart. 

Yet all beneath the unrivall'd rose 

The lowly daisy sweetly blows. 

Though large the forest's monarch throws 

His army shade. 
Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows 

Adown the glade. 



ROBERT BURNS 67 

Then never murmur nor repine, 
Strive in thy humble sphere to shine, 
And, trust me, not Potosi's mine. 

Nor king's regard. 
Can give a bUss o'er matching thine — 

A Rustic Bard, 

To give my counsels all in one: 
Thy tuneful flame still careful fan — 
Preserve the dignity of man. 

With soul erect — 
And trust the universal plan 

Will all protect. 

{As the voice ceases, the hand lifts the holly from the table and 
hinds it on the Bard's head, and immediately the bright 
light and the form vanish. At the same instant a bustle in the 
kitchen below arouses the sleeper. He raises his head, then 
stands erect, looks around in a dazed condition, and ex- 
claims) 

Robert {^profoundly stirred): My God! What a vision has 
passed! What a wondrous light! What glorious words! 
What {feels holly upon his head) ! ! The holly binding my 
brow! ! 

{He pauses — then looking heavenward with arms uplifted, 
in a transport of feeling again exclaims): 
Ye Powers celestial and Guardians divine, I have heard a 
voice ! ! ! Thy will be done ! ! ! 

Gilbert {rushing in with a light, and on his heels a press of 
friends from below stairs, all greatly excited): Here's a 
letter, Robert, just in frae Edinburgh. The bearer says 
he was told it's important and must be delivered at once. 
Guid news! guid news! nae doubt. 

{Robert Burns reads letter with joyful countenance — then 
breaks out) : 



68 ROBERT BURNS 

Robert : Your hand, my Brither ! {Hands wrung.) A kiss, my 
Brither! {Salute each other.) Your arms, my Brither! {They 
embrace.) Verily, Gilbert, the prospect brightens. Dr. 
Blacklock, the blind poet, now resident in Edinburgh, 
here writes {extending hand with letter) to a friend of 
mine, advising me strongly to visit the Capital, assuring me 
of a warm welcome frae the wits and bloods there, and 
expressing a confident opinion, that I wad hae little diffi- 
culty in securing by subscriptions t6 a new and profitable 
edition of my poems. In verra truth, my Brither, the 
prospect brightens. As I slept just now I had a glorious 
vision, a peep upon my after road, and here is the waking 
counter-part. Heaven be praised ! Send, Gilbert, for that 
chest at Greenock. I'll say guid night and guid bye to 
Mither and a*, and by the red cock's craw, before the 
Bailiff's hour, shall be aff afoot for Edinburgh. 

CURTAIN 



ACT IV 



ACT IV 

Scene : Salon of the Duchess of Gordon, Edinburgh. Evening. 

The reports of the Ayrshire Bard that had preceded his arrival 
at the Capital, had stirred all ranks of society. The greatest 
curiosity was manifested to meet him. u j- • 

The salon scene is brilliant — authors, scholars, church digni- 
taries, men of affairs, nobles with their rank msignia, high- 
born ladies in jewels and plumes, the grandeur of Scotland, 
assembled to do honor to the Plowman Bard. 
The guests move about among themselves in ammated conver- 
sation and expectant air. 
In front, a group of scholars discuss the Bard. 

Professor Stewart: The Bard tarries. The Duchess of 
Gordon has assembled here a brilliant company, to do 
him honor. Why, Dr. Blair, it's nearly an hour {investigat- 
ing watch) past his appointed arrival, as the Duchess in- 
forms me. 

Rev. Dr. Blair: Professor Stewart must be aware, that a 
social lion means uncertain hours. He cannot be expected 
to be as punctual as the Professor's students. Our Bard 
is fairly in the swim. To have Burns at the festivities of 
the 400 is now the correct thing. At one of these they may 
be detaining him. 

Professor Stewart: The interest he excites appears amaz- 
ing. The greatest curiosity is manifested to meet him. 
Edinburgh actually is in a state of excitement. Dr. Blair 
has a more accurate finger on the social pulse. Am I, sir, 
exaggerating? 

Rev. Dr. Blair: I do not think so. He is reported over- 
whelmed with attentions. I understand. Gentlemen, that, 
to secure him, it is necessary to bespeak his company a 
week in advance. 



72 ROBERT BURNS 

Professor Stewart : As a friend of mine expresses it, cards 
to invite fly by thousands each night. 

Rev. Dr. Blair: So thick, I hear, that an evening's enter- 
tainment ofttimes is multiple — an hour here, an hour 
there, an hour yonder. 

Professor Stewart: And covering, in too many instances, 
as Dr. Blair*s censorship may have heard, the entire 
night. 

Rev. Dr. Blair : Yes — and I fear some of these enter- 
tainments do not forecast well for the Bard. He is no 
enemy, it seems, to John Barleycorn, and, in pushing the 
bottle, is said to be ready to test the strength of the 
stoutest Bacchus among us. 

Dr. Robertson: One of these entertainments, I am told, is 
to come off tonight. That is, if the Bard can keep all his 
engagements. He takes tea this evening with Sir William 
Forbes — has pledged his word to the Duchess, as she 
tells me, to be here for half hour or so — and goes hence 
to attend a Ball in his honor by the Caledonian Hunt. 

Professor Stewart: What, Dr. Robertson, is this other 
entertainment? 

Dr. Robertson: An affair of the Bachelors' Club, as I 
hear. 

Professor Stewart : A wild, revelling set — seasoned fel- 
lows at pushing the bottle, or gathering round the bowl. 

Dr. Robertson : He has met the Club before, and a member 
informed me took them absolutely off their feet by his 
splendid flashes. They have arranged, I believe, to point 
the present affair by rendering some of his convivial songs. 

Professor Stewart: I can well believe the report, that the 
Bard's wild humor, and brilliant, daring wit, naake him 
the idol on these festive occasions. 

Rev. Dr. Blair: And I feel bound. Gentlemen, to repeat 
my fear that, should he get thick with these fellows, they 



ROBERT BURNS 73 

may succeed in embarking him on a tide of dissipation. 
The Club*s reputation is notorious. 

Professor Stewart: It may be this Club affair that is de- 
taining him. 

Dr. Robertson: Perhaps so. I don't know whether he is 
to meet the Club before or after his visit here. 

Professor Stewart: They may be detaining him at Sir 
William Forbes'. The Banker is a charming host, and not 
an — (Sounds, as of persons approaching, are heard outside 
the door. Conversation interrupted, and all turn expectant 
toward the door.) 

Rev. Dr. Blair: There he is! 
(Enter usher.) 

Usher (announcing guests): Miss Burnett, and the Earl of 
Monboddo. 
(Enter guests — exit usher.) 

Mr. Erskine: My Reverend friend (turning to Dr. Blair, the 
popular Edinburgh preacher) is not a safe guesser — at 
least for these lower regions. He appears better in fore- 
casting the futures of saints and sinners. 

Group: Ha! ha! ha! 

Mr. Erskine: Well, Gentlemen — to take up our thread — 
should the Bard unhappily become an enemy to himself, 
already has he done enough to charm and instruct others. 

Rev. Dr. Blair: Alas! Mr. Erskine, the hapless fate of too 
many of the great ones of earth. 

Professor Stewart: There is one danger. Gentlemen, an- 
tecedently highly probable, which our Bard has escaped. 

Rev. Dr. Blair: What's that? 

Professor Stewart: The danger of losing his head in the 
midst of all this lionizing. 

Rev. Dr. Blair: Strange, most strange indeed, how he 
stands it! In a dazzling blaze of favor, escorting jeweled 
dames over scented carpets to banquet-halls and tables 



74 ROBERT BURNS 

loaded with gold and silver, it is a marvel, how this young 
ploughman from Ayrshire deports himself. His bearing 
far surpasses all expectations. 

Professor Stewart: Gentlemen, Gentlemen, I regard the 
circumstances of the advent of Burns among the sages and 
nobles of Edinburgh as being one of the most singular 
phenomena in modern literature. 

Mr. Allison: Yes, the wits and bloods of the Capital looked 
to see a green peasant rhmyster from the country-side, 
gifted by nature, as his verses show, but whose rustic 
ways and abashed address in the novel, untried presence 
of the beau monde would afford amusement. 

Group: Ha! ha! ha! 

Rev. Dr. Blair : A notion generally entertained, Mr. Allison. 

Mr. Allison: Instead, what do we find.'^ Verily, one who 
is " a man for a' that,*' a marvel indeed under the cir- 
cumstances, cool and undazzled amidst the brilliant lights 
of the Capital, his air totally devoid of embarrassment, his 
address manly and independent, perfectly well-bred, ele- 
gant in its simplicity, and winning in the' free, unfettered, 
native play of the emotions. 

Rev. Dr. Blair: In truth, Gentlemen, I regard Robert 
Burns as giving an earnest of being rated the most re- 
markable man of the age — a noble of original patent — 
with ease and unchallenged authority holding title direct 
from nature — and checking any insolence of conde- 
scension. 

Mr. Allison: For that matter, indeed, a glance from the 
Bard's flashing eyes alone would suffice to check such 
insolence. 

Dr. Robertson: True, very true. Of course. Gentlemen, 
you must have noticed his eye, his fine dark eye, full of 
ardor and intelligence. Never have I seen its like in the 
head of any other human being. It is the capital index 



ROBERT BURNS 75 

of his genius, and fairly glows. I know of no other word 
to express it. When the Poet is aroused, his eye hterally 
glows, an orb of fire! 

Professor Stewart : Ah ! Gentlemen, if — 

(Sounds outside, as of parties approaching the door, again 
heard. Conversation interrupted. All eyes toward door.) 

Rev. Dr. Blair: There he is now no doubt! He is over-due 
in filling here a distinguished engagement. 
(Enter usher.) 

Usher (announcing guest): The venerable and venerated 
Adam Fergusson. 

Mr. Erskine : My comment, Gentlemen, on the incident, is : 
A mighty good guest, but a mighty bad guesser. 

Group: Ha! ha! ha! 

Mr. Erskine : Blessing, not guessing, evidently is our Rev- 
erend friend's role. 

Group: Ha! ha! ha! 

Professor Stewart: Well, Gentlemen, while the Bard 
keeps us expecting him, we may go on dissecting him. 

Group: Ha! ha! ha! 

Professor Stewart : Appreciatively, I mean — brain and 
heart being special points of observation. — I was about 
to remark just now, that if the Poet carried no other ar- 
rows in his quiver, a flash from his tongue would sujffice 
to wither any airs of condescension approaching him. 

Mr. Allison: I can recall very vividly some instances. Upon 
the demands of occasion his tongue becomes a wonder- 
fully keen weapon. 

Rev. Dr. Blair: As to that. Gentlemen, in every field of ex- 
ercise the Bard's tongue is a tongue indeed. His mind 
lifts and illuminates all it touches. On themes within his 
range his brilliancy of fancy, glow of sentiment, richness 
of thought, and strength and vehemence of expression, 
make you grand scholars second fiddlers 



76 ROBERT BURNS 

Group: Ha! ha! ha! 

Mr. Erskine : If Dr. Blair will allow, there is a parallel here 
with the "Child in the Temple, sitting in the midst of the 
Doctors," and astonishing all by his understanding and 
answers. 

Group: Hear! Hear! 

Dr. Robertson: His conversation truly is powerful, more 
remarkable, in my view, even than his poems. 

Rev. Dr. Blair: Never have I witnessed in any one a more 
rapid and distinct apprehension, greater fluency of speech, 
or strength and brilliancy of expression. 

Mr. Allison: The attractions of his conversation certainly 
are extraordinary; and the sorcery, I am told, is com- 
plete on festive occasions, when the Bard allows a free 
rein, the roar and the tear being equally at his bidding. 

Mr. Erskine: I am unable to speak of his colloquial 
powers, having been but once and for a few moments in 
his company, but, regarding his poetical productions as a 
whole, certes I can add my suffrage touching their ex- 
traordinary merit. 

Professor Stewart: A notable feature is the wonderful 
hold they have upon all classes. I was down in Ayrshire 
recently, few days after the appearance of the Kilmarnock 
edition. It was a revelation to the lowlands of Scotland. 
Everybody, from cot-house to castle, was reading, re- 
peating, singing, laughing over, the verses. I have been 
analyzing this hold with the view of discovering the se- 
cret supporting it. 

Rev. Dr. Blair: And with what result.?^ 

Professor Stewart : I find it in the — 

(Sounds ouside, as of persons approaching door again, 
heard. Conversation interrupted^ and all turn toward the 
door.) 

Rev. Dr. Blair; I'll lay a wager we have the Bard this time! 



ROBERT BURNS 77 

Mr. Erskine: At what figure, Dr. Blair? 

Rev. Dr. Blair: Why, sir, a sovereign for the poor box this 
Sabbath. 

Mr. Erskine: Agreed, sir. 
(Enter usher.) 

Usher {announcing guest): Dr. John Moore, the distin- 
guished author of " Zeluco." 

Group: Ha! ha! ha! 

{Enter guest — exit usher.) 

Professor Stewart : Ah ! Dr. Blair, the poor box will greet 
you with '* a smile that won't come off." 

Group: Ha! ha! ha! 

Rev. Dr. Blair: Well, Gentlemen, I suppose I can stand 
it. You won't have to pass the hat round. 

Group: Ha! ha! ha! 

Rev. Dr. Blair : I am on a sharp lookout — aglow with the 
personality of our subject. You see my interest in the 
Poet Burns. 

Group: Ha! ha! ha! {At the word-play.) 

Professor Stewart: As to Dr. Blair's question — to take 
up the oft-severed thread — I regard the general charac- 
ter of the Poet's hold as being due to the genuineness, the 
sincerity, and so the naturalness, of his compositions. 
There is an absolute absence of the artificial. He repre- 
sents nature, in all her variant moods, with the precision 
of intimacy. 

Rev. Dr. Blair: Another factor, undoubtedly, is the na- 
tional cast of his writings. Our literature is deficient in 
this attribute of nationality. We have stores of high 
grade works, but too few with a national spirit. 

Mr. Allison: True, quite true. Burns is an enthusiast for 
all that concerns the glory of Scotland, and supplies a 
native want; and had he entered the field of letters with 
his eminent powers trained and polished by a university 



78 ROBERT BURNS 

education, he might, in my judgment, have changed the 
entire course of our Hterature. 

Mr. Erskine : It may not be too late to risk the prediction. 
The final outcome of the Bard's powers has not at this 
hour become manifest. Burns now looms a great genius 
with a possibiUty — shall I say probability.^ — of rank- 
ing even with the greatest. His poems give but broken 
glimpses of what he is; and to pretend to limit — there. 
Dr. Blair! {Interrupting outside sounds heard, as of per- 
sons approaching the door) Will you wager again? 

Rev. Dr. Blair : Yes, sir, and for the poor box, too — but 
this time on the negative side. 

Mr. Erskine : Very well, sir, — Done ! 
{Enter usher.) 

Usher {announcing guests) : The Earl of Glencairn, accom- 
panied by the Poet, Mr. Robert Burns. 

Group {turning toward Dr. Blair): Ha! ha! ha! 

Professor Stewart: Be comforted. Dr. Blair, be com- 
forted. We shall not forget the hat. 

Group: Ha! ha! ha! 

{Enter guests — exit usher.) 

{Robert Burns is seen a young man above the average height, 
of fine well-knit figure, and with slight plowman^ s stoop. 
His countenance is full, strong, and of uncommon interest. 
The black, curly hair is tied behind and spread in front upon 
the well-raised forehead. His plaid is a handsome red and 
white check of fine wool. He wears boots and buckskin 
breeches, and generally is dressed as a well-to-do farmer 
ready to dine with the laird. The company is in a state of 
excitement — the air electrified — the Poet a moving centre 
of most spirited conversation, interspersed with spontaneous 
smile, laughter, applause.) 

Duchess of Gordon : My Lord {to the Earl of Glencairn) , I 
am happy to meet you; and you likewise, Mr. Burns 



ROBERT BURNS 79 

{turning to the Poet). I regret the Duke's unexpected de- 
tention in the Highlands prevents his sharing with me the 
honor of your company. 

Poet {his manner toward ladies being especially deferential 
while easy and self-possessed): He is to be accounted 
fortunate, Madam, in having so admirable a representa- 
tive, and my Lord, I am sure {turning to the Earl of Glen- 
cairn) , joins me in the sentiment. 
{The Earl bows assent.) 

Lady Gordon: Ah, sir, ever ready, as your poems happily 
show, to applaud the ladies, or the lassies, as you write 
them. 

Poet : In no other sphere. Madam, could my pen so fitly rave. 
What signifies the life of man, if 'twerena for the lassies, O? 
{Hearty laughter.) 

Duchess: The lassies charm you, sir, into being pre-em- 
inently the first of love poets. 

Poet: And certes, Madam, have I not ample warrant? The 
wisest man the world e'er saw, he dearly loved the lassies, 
O! 
{Burst of laughter.) 

Duchess of Gordon: Our sex, I am sure, Mr. Burns, is 
deeply indebted to you. I am fain to enlarge upon the 
sentiment and declare, that no other poet has sung, so 
fully and so fitly, the woman, her joys and her sorrows. 

Poet: A simple recognition, Madam, as by truth and duty 
bound, of the flower of creation. As between the sexes 
old nature herself instructs me: 

Her 'prentice hand she tried on man, 
And then she made the lassies, O! 

{Hearty lau hter.) 

{Those of the company who before had met the Poet, gather 

about him, to greet him — covering some minutes.) 



80 ROBERT BURNS 

Duchess of Gordon (drawing near with a lady) : Allow me, 
Mr. Burns, to make known to you Miss Burnett, of 
Monboddo, whose wit is equal to her personal charms. 

Poet: Then must it be of the rarest quality {the Poet's 
eye kindling, as he hows and measures the fine figure and 
beautiful countenance before him). 

Miss Burnett: I am delighted, sir, to meet Scotland's 
representative Poet. {Bow from the Bard.) The harp of the 
North has not been swept before by a hand so fine and 
varied. {Bow from the Bard.) 

Poet: The title of " Scotland's Poet," Miss Burnett, would 
be my greatest pride; to deserve it, my utmost ambition. 
Scottish scenes and Scottish story are the themes I could 
wish to sing. I have no dearer aim, than to have it in my 
power, unplagued with the routine of business (for which. 
Heaven knows, I am unfit enough), to make leisurely 
pilgrimages through Caledonia — to stand on the fields 
of her battles and meditate — to wander on the romantic 
banks of her rivers — and to muse on the stately towers, 
or venerable ruins, once the honored homes of her 
heroes. 

Miss Burnett: Others, sir, are pressing for your acquaint- 
ance. Let me have your ear long enough to express the 
hope that your engagements will allow you to take tea 
with us tomorrow evening. 

Poet: An accepted invitation elsewhere denies me that 
pleasure. 

Miss Burnett: The next evening then, sir. 

Poet: That pleasure, Miss Burnett, is still denied me. A 
week hence, if plans mature, I am off for a jaunt through 
North Scotland and up to that date my social hours are 
bespoken. Even in such a presence as this my stay, of 
necessity, has to be narrowed. The civilities of your city 
both astonish and delight me. 



ROBERT BURNS 81 

My breakfasts, dinings, teas, and a' 

Edina sets in style fu' braw, 

And tributes from both heart and craw 

I, present, render; 
And absent, while life's breath I draw. 

For aye shall send her. 

(Ringing applause.) 
Miss Burnett: To spread her tables, sir, is the least Edina 

could do. 
Poet : That she has done so most handsomely, be assured — 

even without a haggis. 

(Laughter.) 
Poet: I confess a discourtesy. 

Sir Haggis should the title be. 

For great chieftain of the puddin' race is he. 

Aboon them a' he taks his place, 

The cot-house brag, 
Weel worthy of a dinner grace 

As lang's my leg. 

(Burst of applause.) 
Earl of Glencairn (introducing Lord Monboddo) : My Lord 

Monboddo, allow me, my friend Robert Burns. 

(Greetings — covering minute or more.) 
Earl of Glencairn (to Poet) : Lord Monboddo is the father 

of Miss Burnett, whom you have just met. 
Poet (to Lard Monboddo) : My pleasure, truly. In grace and 

beauty what has appeared nearly like her, sir, since Mil- 
ton's Eve on the day of her creation? 
Lord Monboddo: Let goodness crown that combination. 
Poet: Then must I name her the heavenly Burnett. 

(Miss Burnett, in the press, overhears. Demonstration about 

her.) 



82 ROBERT BURNS 

Earl of Glencairn (to Poet) : Lord Monboddo has en- 
larged with me on " The Jolly Beggars." 

Lord Monboddo: Understand me, Mr. Burns. I do not say 
that, in itself, it is the most finished, the most striking, 
the most beautiful — but that it is the most predicting 
of your pieces. 

Professor Stewart: Yet it can give a very good accoimt 
of itself. I am charmed with the variety and richness of 
the fancy. 

Lord Monboddo: True, very true, and it is these charac- 
teristics that, in my view, are predicting. Have you never, 
sir, given serious thought to more advanced dramatic 
composition.'^ 

Poet: Some glances in that direction. 

Lord Monboddo: "The Jolly Beggars," I think, point 
clearly to that field as singularly appropriate to your 
genius. 
(Bow from Bard) 

Rev. Dr. Blair: These musical dramas, it is said, are now 
the London rage. 

Mr. Erskine : Stuff, too, they are — none of poetical merit 
worth the name, since Sheridan's " Duenna." Simply 
vehicles for music and pageantry — and a special open- 
ing offers, Mr. Burns, to your remarkable gifts. 
{Bow from Bard.) 

Duchess of Gordon {in smiles) : I am opposed to these 
gentlemen's monopoly of comedy contributions, and offer 
my share in expressing unlimited confidence, that your 
rare abilities, Mr. Burns, could produce a comic opera 
deserving salute alike from Apollo and from the Muses, 
and withal worth a fortune. 
{Bow from Bard.) 

Poet: Comedy attempted, Madam, very likely would be 
tragedy accomplished. 
{Laughter.) 



ROBERT BURNS 83 

Mr. Allison: For brilliant results let ** The Jolly Beggars '* 
stand as the lively infant pledge. 

Miss Burnett: On the spot I claim the naming: "The 
Comedy of the Salon." 

Poet: And on the spot I name the star. {Smiling and bow- 
ing to Miss Burnett.) 

Rev. Dr. Blair: And divorces becoming too common, you 
might, Mr. Burns, pro bono publicOy bring out some offset 
for wilted wives. 

Poet: Very well, Dr. Blair. If it be that these divorcing 
husbands are sighing for old-time home expression of 
freshness and beauty, there occurs to me, on the spot, a 
compensation for fading wives. 

Rev. Dr. Blair: What, sir.? 

Poet: Blooming children. 
(Burst of laughter.) 

Duchess OF Glencairn: And as "The Comedy of the 
Salon," I salute the piece historically, for being, in its 
origin, the means of transmitting, with eclat, my name 
and house to posterity. 
{Applause, and cries of ** hearl " " hear "! 

Poet : You ladies and gentlemen, so happily planning for me, 
are not to forget external impedimenta. I am told that 
interest and manoeuvring generally become necessary to 
launch a drama upon the London " boards." 

Mr. Erskine: So it may be with the namby-pamby tribe 
of flowery scriblers; but (to take up the matter in all 
seriousness) were you, Mr. Burns, to write Mr. Sheridan 
himself, who now controls Drury Lane, inclosing a dram- 
atic sketch, I am persuaded he would, for the honor of 
genius, give you a fair and candid trial. 

Duchess of Glencairn: And a trial producing a rival of 
" The Rivals." 



84 ROBERT BURNS 

Miss Burnett: Or its brilliant twin, "The School for 
Scandal." 
{Laughter and applause.) 

Mr. Erskine {to Poet) : The Elegy, sir, on Captain Matthew 
Henderson very much impresses me. 

Poet: Ah! Mr. Erskine, I see a sameness of situation. I am 
told you are boiling, yet by God's grace still living and 
lively, boiling, sir, in the political cauldron — My Lord 
{turning to the Earl of Glencairn), yourself is my inform- 
ant. {The Earl bows absent.) Well, my dear sir {to Mr. 
Erskine) y as apropos of politicians, please allow me to say, 
that, on completion of that Elegy, I sent the piece to a 
friend who himself had been boiling in the cauldron, with 
a note to this effect : Now, my friend, since — for the 
nonce at least — you have cut the sirens of flattery, the 
harpies of corruption, and the furies of ambition, those 
fell deities, that, on all sides and in all parties, preside 
over the business of politics — 

Rev. Dr. Blair {to the Poet) : A moment's interruption, sir, 
may it please you, to remind my friend Erskine, of the 
political cauldron, that, having wagered on the Poet and 
won, the latter, very naturally, is now returning him 
thanks. 
{Great laughter.) 

Mr. Erskine: And honors being now easy between Dr. 
Blair and myself, my hat contributions, very naturally, 
should cease. 
{Renewed laughter.) 

Poet : You gentlemen have introduced some gambling affair, 
about which happily I am ignorant, and, even if disposed 
to be merry over a gamble, am unable, very naturally, to 
be a party to the fun. 
{Renewed laughter.) 



ROBERT BURNS 85 

Earl of Glencairn (introducing) : Dr. Moore, this is my 
countryman, my shireman, my neighbor-man, and my 
friend, Robert Burns. 
{Greetings, supposed to cover several minutes.) 

Poet : Let me thank you, and again thank you. Dr. Moore, 
for the honor done me, in sending your book " Zeluco," 
and indeed furthermore for the letter accompanying. 

Dr. Moore : A trifle, to beguile your leisure. 

Poet: Verily, sir, I must dissent. In common with the world 
I am highly pleased with the Story; but to regard the 
sending as a mark of the author's esteem, is a superior 
gratification. Again I thank you, sir, for book and for 
letter. 

Dr. Moore (smiling) : I am yet to thank the Poet for the 
reply. 

Poet : But, my dear sir, you imposed such a task, an expres- 
sion of opinion. I must needs consider, and reply halted 
between purpose and resolve. 

Dr. Moore : I withdraw any thought of challenge. 

Poet: My dear Dr. Moore, I am no graduate in criticism, 
I assure you. I know only what pleases me, often without 
being able to tell why. 

Dr. Moore: A fundamental test, warm and simple, and far 
safer, in my judgment, than the frigid formal rules of 
mere scholarship. 

Poet : By that test — my own — I am glad to say, that 
" Zeluco " has been read, and again read, the minutes 
" winging their way wi' pleasure." You remind me of 
Fielding. Original strokes that strongly depict — 
(The Poet is interrupted by the Duchess, especially de- 
sirous to introduce " Mrs. Dunlop of Dunlopy' who has just 
been received.) 

Duchess of Gordon (graciously addressing the Poet and Dr. 
Moore): Social urgency must needs break in upon you 



86 ROBERT BURNS 

gentlemen. Since Mr. Burns' further engagements this 

evening hmit his stay here, and because he has many yet 

to meet, I have decreed, in a role of a king of the Medes 

and Persians, to limit his holdings. Despotic ruling, Mr. 

Burns, isn't it.^^ 
Poet: The despot's rule. Madam, is blest, when the despot 

is perfect. 

(Applause.) 
Poet : A figure, then, of God himself, who thence is justified 

Despot Supreme. 

(Renewed applause.) 
Dr. Moore: True, Madam. These individual monopolies 

should be short — short as a hungry grace before meat. 

What wish would your Grace prefer .^^ 
Duchess of Gordon: A moment's interruption for an 

introduction. 
Dr. Moore : Unanimously carried, Madam. 

Duchess of Gordon (introducing Mrs. Dunlop) : Mr. Burns, 
Mrs. Dunlop. 
(Greetings y supposed to cover minute or more.) 

Duchess of Gordon: It is not the least of Mrs. Dunlop 's 
attractions, Mr. Burns, that, by lineal descent, she holds 
in her veins the blood of Wallace. 

(The Poety taking a step backward and balancing the body 
in the startled attitude of one confronted suddenly by an ob- 
ject of absorbing interesty for a momenty fixes upon Mrs. 
Dunlop, a glowing gaze.) 

Poet (with greatest animation): Pray, Madam, pardon my 
manner. You call up an illustrious presence wont to hang 
very near my heart: 

At Wallace's name what Scottish blood 
But boils up in a spring- tide flood! 
(Vehemence rouses applause.) 



ROBERT BURNS 87 

Poet : You could not, Mrs. Dunlop, have touched my patriot 
heartcord more stirringly, than by naming the great 
Wallace, my glorious countryman, and your immortal 
ancestor. From my youth has he not been with me? One 
of the few books of my boyish days was *' The History of 
Sir William Wallace," and many are the hours, when, 
after daily labor, I have stolen out to shed a tear over his 
glorious, but unfortunate story. 

Dr. Moore: Hero men those days, sir. 

Poet: And the spirit of the hero-patriot is not lacking in 
ours. Dr. Moore. 

Dr. Moore: I did not intend such an inference. 

Poet : Yes — way down in the ranks may be, true as tem- 
pered steel is he, awaiting hero opportunity. 
(Applause.) 

Poet: There he is! I see him now at the cot-house on leave: 

Just bring this Scotsman frae his hill. 
Clap in his cheek a Highland gill. 
Say, such is royal George's will, 

And there's the foe; 
He has nae thought but how to kill 

Twa at a blow. 

(Great applause.) 

Nae cold, faint-hearted, doubtings tease him. 
Death comes. Wl' fearless eye he sees him; 
Wi' bluidy hand a welcome gies him; 

And, when he fa's, 
His latest draught o' breathin' leaves him 

In faint huzzas! 

(Spoken with fiery energy — resounding burst of applause.) 
(Pause.) 



88 ROBERT BURNS 

Poet: I am tempted, Mrs. Dimlop, to repeat the Bannock- 
burn lines. 
Mrs. Dunlop: Then, sir, you would repeat the first of 
heroic odes. 
{Bow from Bard.) 
Mr. Erskine : Glorious — thrilling — and deserving to be 
sung by the throat of the whirlwind. 
{Applause. As it ceases, from a curtained gallery at one 
end of the salon come the tones of a harp. The fingers, in 
prelude, stray a moment among the strings — then sweep 
the sounding chords, supporting a glowing voice.) 
Voice : 

Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled, 
Scots, whom Bruce has often led. 
Welcome to your gory bed, 
Or to victory! 

Now's the day, and now's the hour, 
See the front o' battle lour, 
See approach proud Edward's power — 
Chains and slavery! 

Wha will be a traitor nave? 
Wha can fill a coward's grave? 
Wha sae base as be a slave? 
Let him turn and flee! 

Wha, for Scotland's king and law. 
Freedom's sword will strongly draw. 
Freemen stand, or freemen fa', 
Let him follow me! 

By oppression's woes and pains — 
By your sons in servile chains — 
We will drain our dearest veins. 
But they shall be free! 



ROBERT BURNS 89 

(The inspiring words, appealing with such power to Scot- 
land's heart, the charm of the voice, the author's presence and 
singular personal attraction — all combine to throw a com- 
pany, already overflowing with enthusiasm, almost into an 
ecstasy. With the first stanza a demonstration is threatened. 
With each succeeding one the impulse grows — with the last 
irresistibly bursting forth, the company joining the singer 
in impassioned tones, and with tremendous effect). 

^^' Lay the proud usurpers low! 

Tyrants fall in ev'ry foe! 
Liberty's in ev'ry blow ! 
Let us do or dee! 

{Wild scene follows — a rush upon the Poet, with embraces y 
tears, etc., etc., etc., — covering five or more minutes.) 

Duchess of Gordon {pointing to Poefs lapel, where roses 
had been pinned): They have despoiled your coat, sir, 
for salon souvenirs. 

Poet: The flower perishes, like *' the grass of the field, which 
today is, and tomorrow is cast into the oven." For my- 
self, the souvenir is this demonstration as a whole — over- 
whelming, Madam — to be kept enshrined and vivid in 
the memory, for ever; and in its centre that voice, so 
sweet, and, by twinship, dear, there being but one other 
voice like it, and that very near to me. 
{The company, pressing about the Poet, become interested 
in the voice, and expectant.) 

Duchess of Gordon: The singer is a lassie, her person 
matching the voice — sweet, to use one of your expres- 
sions, as the dewy milk-white thorn. 

Poet: May I meet her? 

Duchess of Gordon: At the proper moment. She is here 
by special invitation, and chosen as artist for the occasion. 

Poet: Is she to appear again? 



90 ROBERT BURNS 

Duchess of Gordon: In one of your songs, the most beauti- 
ful among your beautiful lyrics, where you single out 
one to exalt, breathing the true spirit of poetry, and 
which, like the music, will last for ever. 

Poet: And that, your Grace? 

Duchess of Gordon: Your verses on " Highland Mary." 

Miss Burnett: Most enchantingly sweet and pathetic. 

Mr. Erskine : Another glorious lyric — as high in the 
tender order, as Bannockburn in the heroic. 

Rev. Dr. Blair: So rich in word selection, such grace, such 
music, in word succession, such wealth of love expression, 
a gem, sir, worthy a presentation to Apollo himself. 
{Bow from Bard.) 

{With the PoeVs how Lady Gordon gives a sign, and from 
the gallery the voice is heard in subdued, chastened strain of 
melody) : 

Voice: 

Ye banks, and braes, and streams around 

The castle o' Montgomery, 
Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, 

Your waters never drumlie. 
There simmer first unfaulds her robes. 

And there the langest tarry; 
For there I took the last fareweel 

Of my sweet Highland Mary. 

How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk. 

How rich the hawthorn's blossom. 
As, underneath their fragrant shade, 

I clasped her to my bosom! 
The golden hours, on angel wings, 

Flew o'er me and my dearie; 
For dear to me, as life and light. 

Was my sweet Highland Mary. 



ROBERT BURNS 91 

Wi' mony a vow and lock*d embrace 

Our parting was fu' tender. 
And, pledging aft to meet again, 

We tore oursels asunder. 
But oh ! fell death's untimely frost 

That nipt my flower sae early ! 
Now green's the sod and cauld's the clay 

That wraps my Highland Mary ! 

Oh! pale, pale now those rosy lips 

I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly ! 
And closed for aye the sparkling glance 

That dwelt on me sae kindly! 
And mouldering now in silent dust 

That heart that loved me dearly; 
But still within my bosom's core 

Shall live my Highland Mary ! 

(Upon the wrought-up temper of the company the effect of 
this enchanting song, all aglow with a lover^s soul, is most 
extraordinary. With the first word eyes begin to mist. Upon 
the lasty another demonstration follows. Aroused to an irre- 
pressible pitch of tumultuous delight, the guests again over- 
whelm the Poet with tears, embraces, etc., etc., etc. 
The confusion over, the Poet, with his characteristic unaf- 
fected simplicity and enthusiasm, addresses the company 
pressing around him) : 
Poet: The subject is one of the most interesting passages 
in my life. I regard the lines as being in my happiest 
manner. Perhaps, after all, it is the still glowing prejudice 
of my heart that throws a borrowed lustre over the merits 
of the composition. She was not only beautiful, but 
lovely. Her form elegant. Her features not absolutely 
regular, but combining in a countenance of winning 



92 ROBERT BURNS 

sweetness, an expression of tenderness, intelligence, and a 
generous spirit. 

{The Poet 'pauses — then breaks into apostrophe.) 
Thou busy power, remembrance, cease, when I would 
turn to those scenes — scenes in strong remembrance set, 
scenes never, never to return. 
{Poet pauses,) 

Still, however dear, it is a memoryy which these lines hal- 
low. This voice which I hear, is living, and so touches me, 
because a seeming echo from *' by the winding Ayr," 
where, in a dear lassie, " Highland Mary," in a figure, is 
restored to me. 

Duchess of Gordon: A seeming echo, Mr. Burns.^^ Per- 
chance it may be real. 

Poet: I cannot understand your Grace. 

Duchess of Gordon : Are you not conscious, sir, of having 
been the subject of a prophecy? 

Poet: The subject of a prophecy! 

Duchess of Gordon: Yes, sir. 

Poet: By whom — myself, or by another? 

Duchess of Gordon: Another, sir. 

Poet: Humanity, or sprite. Madam? 

Duchess of Gordon: A sane, safe, and charming sample of 
humanity, I can assure Mr. Burns. 

Poet: A charming prophet! Thank you, Madam — a leg to 
stand on. A charming prophet should not confute his 
character, and be a prophet of evil. 
{The Duchess does not answer the implied question.) 

Poet: You are silent, Madam. 

Duchess of Gordon: The disclosing hour, sir, approaches. 

Poet: Lady Gordon knows more of this personal prophecy, 
than I myself. Truly I feel honored. I am sure she will 
allow me to question her information more definitely, and 
ask: When the fulfilment? 



ROBERT BURNS 93 

Duchess of Gordon: This night. 

Poet: This night! 

Duchess of Gordon: Really, sir, this night. 

Poet: And where, pray, Madam? 

Duchess of Gordon: This salon! 

Poet: This salon! 

Duchess of Gordon: Yes, sir, even this salon. 
(Pause — Poet puzzled — guests excited.) 

Poet : What is it. Madam — what meanest thou, Lady 
Gordon? I am in astonishment — I am bewildered 
amidst the happenings since reaching the Capital, and 
especially the maze of these demonstrations. 

Duchess OF Gordon: The singer will explain — another 
Cassandra, prophecying truly, but not believed. 
{Guests greatly excited.) 

Poet: A woman, then? 

Duchess of Gordon: A Lassie, whom, as I've said, I have 
invited hither, as artist for the occasion. 

Poet: You have promised I might see her. 

Duchess of Gordon: Yes. 

Poet: Where is she? 

Duchess of Gordon: Here. 

Poet (looking around) : Here? 

Duchess OF Gordon: Yes — here in domino. Doubtless 
you will recognize her, as I lift the hood. 
(" Bonnie Jean,** charming in simple attire, is now standing 
by Lady Gordon*s side. As the latter lifts the hood, she 
exclaims) : 

Jean: Robin, Robin, dinna ye remember? 

{They rush into each other* s arms, amidst tumultuous ap- 
plause of company.) 

CURTAIN 



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